Field Day
by DarkMuse112
Summary: The horrors of 9/11 are still painful, even today. The U.S. Reaper Dispatch Offices were swamped, what with the enormous death toll and therefore, outside help was requested.
1. Chapter 1

Work had been fairly steady throughout the course of the day. There had been no special reports or incidents of any significance worth noting. Aside from one particularly frustrating incident when another co-worker –he was not sure whom– had stolen his lunch from the office refrigerator, which resulted in him having to find some other means of sustenance to keep him going for the rest of the day, William T. Spears, Dispatch Manager of the London Branch Reaper Dispatch Offices had made it through his shift with little discord. He felt relatively content that he might actually be getting home on time for once.

The clock was nearing five, and his work was nearly complete, but, as was his custom, William liked to make absolutely certain that everything was squared away before he clocked out for the evening. Turning back to the computer screen before him, he pinched the bridge of his nose. These machines were a more modern innovation, and although humans had been slowly perfecting them for personal and business use for the past twenty to thirty years or so, the reapers had begun utilizing them for their own purposes about fifteen years before that. It usually held true that in this realm, technology was just a tad above the bar in comparison to that of the humans'.

William did not care much for the machine. Despite the fact that it made every aspect of work about a hundred times easier and more efficient than it had been one-hundred-some-odd years ago, the lighted screen gave him such wonderful pains in the front of his skull after staring at it all day.

He navigated to his e-mail and opened it. His jaw dropped.

There were 132 new messages in his inbox. Scanning through them quickly, he noticed that they had all accumulated within the last hour.

"What is all this?" he exclaimed out loud.

Most of the subject lines were preceded by words such as "IMPORTANT" and "URGENT" displayed in all capital letters.

He let his hands fall to the desk, slumping back in his chair and letting out an exasperated sigh. Pausing for a moment to allow his irritation to brew, he pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose with his index finger and leaned forward again to take a closer look at the messages.

He opened the oldest message first. Forwarded to him by London branch manager, Aldo Cawley it was titled simply, "FWD: cc: Aid." He read:

_To whom it may concern,_

_Starting within the next few days, we here at the New York City, Manhattan Branch Office of Collections will be expecting a rather heavy workload. So heavy, in fact, that upon analyzing the sheer numbers of souls that need to be collected, it has been projected that we do not have the man power to handle the massive influx. We are asking for the assistance of any available dispatchers and/or officers that can be spared. Please, we ask that you lend your services to our office for a temporary period of time. You will be compensated for the inconvenience if you wish. Thank you._

_Jason Watts,  
>New York City, Manhattan Branch Office of Collections, Human Resources Manager.<em>

William pondered this for a moment. The Manhattan branch office was asking for extra dispatchers? The New York City headquarters was one of the largest reaper dispatch offices in the world, and if one of its largest branches was not able to handle a particular job, then something truly ground shaking must be approaching.

Now he was curious. He went to the second message, this one from Aldo himself.

"This is not a request," it stated in the subject line. William sighed again, dreading what fate lay within the orders outlined in this message.

_William,_

_I am sending you and all of your subordinates to the United States tomorrow afternoon. I am aware that you, personally, are not accustomed to working in the field, but the situation is dire, or so I am told. I would like to meet with you at your earliest convenience. If at all possible I would also like to meet with your subordinates at that same time. Please pass this information on to them. Thank you._

_Aldo Cawley,  
>London Branch Reaper Dispatch Offices, General Manager.<em>

William quickly began to compose his response.

_Mr. Cawley,_

_I am just finishing up for the day. I will try to catch the others before they leave, but if I cannot, I will pass whatever information you have to share along to them. I will be in your office as soon as I am done here._

_William T. Spears  
>London Branch Reaper Dispatch Offices, Reaper Dispatch Manager<em>

Whatever this was, it was serious business. He opened a new blank message, typed in the addresses of his subordinates, and then typed in the subject line, the word, "URGENT."

_Hello,_

_If you have already left for the day, please enjoy your evening. However, I would like to see you first thing tomorrow morning. If you are still here, please wait at your station. I will be around shortly to collect you. Mr. Cawley wishes to speak with our division. This is urgent._

_William T. Spears  
>London Branch Reaper Dispatch Offices, Reaper Dispatch Manager<em>

He marked the message as urgent and hit send. He quickly scrolled through some of the other messages, some of which appeared to be nothing more than the mundane messages one receives on a daily basis from either bored or self-important employees. Other messages included some of these same urgencies from the offices in Philadelphia, Langley, and a few smaller offices from places of which William had never even heard.

Just as he was about to close the window and shut the computer down for the evening, the loud ding of his e-mail alert sounded. He sighed, and clicked it open again, hurriedly.

It was from a MistressGS69. The subject, "RE: URGENT."

Oh, he knew already from whom this had been sent. He did not know why he bothered even to open it, as he knew already what it would say. Its sender usually waited for him at the end of the day regardless of the circumstances.

_Will,_

_I will be waiting for you with bated breath, darling. 3_

_XOXO;P  
>Grell Sutcliff,<br>London Branch Reaper Dispatch Offices, Head Dispatcher._

William shook his head and shut off the computer. Two hundred years later, and his subordinate, closest colleague and, dare he say it, friend, Mr. Grell Sutcliff continued to affect the same tacky phrases of endearment to which he was so partial.

Gathering his things and hurrying from his office, William went around to all the desks of the reapers in his division, of which only Ronald Knox and, as expected, Grell Sutcliff were still present. As per usual, Grell sat behind his desk, feet up, arms back, fluttering his eyelids at the approaching manager.

Ever since the punk scene took London by storm, the red headed reaper had adopted a rather unique fashion sense. When Grell had shown up looking like the sideshow to an even freakier circus act, William had pulled him aside and persuaded a compromise with the delinquent reaper that he was to keep his outfits somewhat modest during working hours. However, though Mr. Sutcliff had been prohibited from wearing the torn jeans and studded leather jackets that characterized that particular style of dress to the office, the dress code had never stopped him from expressing his individuality in the past, so why should he break with tradition? During that phase, William had been consistently burdened with complaints about Mr. Sutcliff's ostentatious and distracting get-ups. Not to mention, he also received many criticisms about Mr. Sutcliff's adopted theme song at the time, as the psychopath apparently thought it was funny to blast "Don't Fear the Reaper" from his red 8-track player just before taking a soul. Despite his manager's best efforts, William had not been able to prevent Mr. Sutcliff from abandoning any of these rites.

Grell's fashion senses quickly shifted, following along with the trends of the human world, and soon he had abandoned his quaffed, black-streaked faux hawk for the hairstyle he had sported back before the turn of the last century, as this look was practically identical to many of the bands that emerged in the wake of the fading punk revolution. This heavy metal music, as it was called, was where Grell had found his niche. He had gloated to the others in the office when his signature maloik became a common sight during concerts, making his point that he had been far ahead of the times for the past hundred plus years, and yet no one respected him any more. And although a fan, Grell was just a little bitter that Mr. Ronnie James Dio was taking all the credit for popularizing it. Even through his bitterness though, he held that it was, in fact, Mr. Dio's doing, and not Mr. Gene Simmons.

Skulls were practically a requirement within the genre, so Grell had embraced this fact even more, now that the style of his glasses became current as well. He had even recently been known to sport jewelry with the same type of imagery upon it.

William was at least thankful that, even through some of the more unusual fashion trends, Grell had respected his face enough to refrain from acquiring any unusual piercings. Though that did not mean he had not relocated the disfiguring practice to other parts of his body. Or perhaps there were even tattoos. He shuddered at the thought.

Recently, Mr. Sutcliff had returned to a more professional look, yet he always made it completely his own. He had never been one to skimp on the details, and his outfits always consisted of high-quality pieces, but sometimes William worried that he was going to go too far. Right now, however, the red head sported a black t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of the band Guns N' Roses which was partially concealed by the standard black suit of the average dispatcher. He also wore a pair of pointy-toed black leather boots. The head dispatcher was a little more low-key than usual today. This was probably a good thing considering their intended destination.

William made eye contact with him only briefly, nodding as he hastened past his co-worker's desk. Grell hopped out of his seat and skipped to catch up with his manager's quickened pace.

"Hello, William," he gushed, sliding easily into step just beside the stoic reaper and not so subtly brushing shoulders with him.

"Hello," he responded, curtly. "Were you overly busy today?" William had found that it was best to keep the conversation within the genre of inane small talk with this one. Too many details gave the latter too much leeway to pervert the conversation.

"If I had been, you'd have known about it."

Sometimes keeping the conversation out of dirty waters could be rather difficult.

William stared straight ahead, but could imagine the coy smile that played across his coworker's face, and the wink that accompanied it.

"So what's the deal, boss?" came Ronald's voice from behind.

"I don't have any details right now. That is why Mr. Cawley summoned us."

"Is someone in trouble?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"They're going to give you the sack, and they wanted all of your superiors there just to make the wounds that much more painful," Grell said as they walked, his tone heavy with sarcasm.

Ronald rolled his eyes and huffed, pointing a finger into Grell's face. "That's not funny."

"No, it's not," William scolded, "Don't joke about such matters, Sutcliff."

Grell scoffed, letting it pass. He had been reprimanded and worse on far too many occasions for it to have an effect on him anyway.

The three men hurried down the hallway, heels clicking almost in step with one another against the white marble.

* * *

><p>Aldo Cawley's office was, for the most part, isolated from the "busy" part of the building. The dispatch offices were usually a bustling maze of reapers shuffling between cubicles, fretting over reports and overdue paper work. The offices of the upper management were also quite busy, but the bustle was less conspicuous. There were not as many reapers running around like chickens with the heads lopped off, but the paperwork (and drama, it sometimes seemed), was more of a burden than on the dispatch floor. Besides Branch Manager, some of the other duties that were carried out on this floor were those such as Human and Reaper Resources, Death Scythe Management and Regulations, Record Keeping and Library Management, and the Incident Council, the latter of which Mr. Sutcliff had been all too familiar, especially after being temporarily sacked for his renegade days of hacking prostitutes into tiny bits.<p>

There were several dispatch managers besides William that presided over different divisions of reapers in the dispatch office, but at this moment, he was in charge of the largest division. This was no doubt the reason that he seemed to be the only dispatch manager summoned here today.

He knocked three times on the large wooden door, but on the second knock, a modest voice sounded from behind it.

"Come in."

William opened the door, and took a moment to consider the man behind the desk before entering. He could think of nothing aside from ripping the loons behind him new arse holes if they were not on each his own best behavior. He quickly reconsidered the thought, and determined that it probably was not a very suitable punishment, as at least one of them would probably enjoy the experience. He hoped he would not have to resort to such measures in any case, as his colleagues should know better, the proper way to conduct themselves in the presence of upper management.

Aldo Cawley had been with the London branch for at least sixty years. He was on the younger end of reapers present in this office –William, himself, was well over a hundred years older– but in his human life, he had been taken at a more advanced age than most. His appearance was that of a man in his late forties or perhaps early fifties; no one was exactly certain. It was thought that he had died in some civilian attack on the British back during World War II, and perhaps his occasional, sympathetic nature was proof of this. However, he never spoke about his human life, as was generally the custom amongst reapers; many saw this immortal existence as a second chance, as a way to atone for the sins committed in his or her former life. Because of this, the past was not seen as a subject worth discussing. Not to mention, some reapers, in the enlightened wake of their revival as the creatures they became, found certain aspects about his or her past life could sometimes be rather embarrassing. Unlike vampires who arose with no memory of their former lives, this was seen as the true punishment of becoming a reaper. It was a reaper's duty to judge the lives of the dying, why not have one cold, hard look at their own before they moved on?

Right now though, Aldo sat stern behind his desk, his plump frame emitting the airs of a perfect gentleman. The apples of his cheeks pulled up into plump, rosy circles, his lips stretching into a weary smile as he beckoned them inside.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable. I won't be keeping you long."

The three of them took seats around the room, William occupying the chair across from Mr. Cawley as Ronald and Grell got snug on the bench near the door.

"You are aware, William, as I see that you received my message, of the task I am giving your division." He looked up then, directing his next statement to the two reapers sitting on the bench. "I don't know if Mr. Spears has told you, but I am sending you on a little trip."

"A trip? To where?" Grell interjected, his voice gaining pitch at the prospect of seeing something other than the same pristine marble floors of the office and the decay of London. "The south of France, or maybe Italy? I would love to be someplace warm about now. Maybe there's going to be some major flood that wipes out the Bahamas. I'd go soul collecting for that opportunity."

William struggled to stifle a response to his colleague's rudeness, knowing that it would only reflect poorly on his character to display such temperament. Instead, his eyebrow twitched in aggravation.

Aldo chuckled. "No. Nowhere like that, I'm sorry to tell you. No, you'll be going to the U.S. for the next week. You leave tomorrow afternoon. Though, this time of year, it is still quite warm there, you'll be pleased to know."

Grell became serious again as he and Ronald looked at each other, puzzlement passing between them. Simultaneously, they turned toward Aldo.

"What's going on over there that they can't handle it themselves?" Ronald asked, not snidely, but seeming genuinely curious.

"I have not received too much information, as the offices asking for assistance did not send any records of any kind. They merely asked that any available dispatchers be sent over. The New York City offices are panicking. They are expecting a mass influx of souls to be collected, and although there are hundreds of reapers over there to do the job, the head management predicts that it won't be enough: not only in New York City but in Langley and the D.C. area as well. There are also some smaller offices in the middle of cow country that are asking for dispatchers. As our branch here in London is one of the biggest on the continent, we have been asked to assist, seeing as we can spare the man-hours for the time being. The offices in Dublin, Paris, and Madrid have also been called upon."

"What is this, some kind of disaster? Is there going to be a tidal wave that wipes out the whole of the east coast?" Ronald spoke, fired up at the prospect of some interesting work for once in a great while. "Perhaps a freak earthquake* of some kind?"

"I'm not entirely sure what it could be. You're going to be filled in when you get there. I am, however, splitting you up. William, I am sending you and the rest of your division to New York. You're management, they will respect your authority there. Not to mention they are the one office that contacted me that is going to need the most help."

William nodded solemnly. He was not one to question his superiors' logic.

"Mr. Sutcliff and Mr. Knox, you two are close colleagues am I correct?"

Ronald nodded.

"You two are going together on this one. I'm sending you to the country."

Grell was ready to jump to his feet, a spitfire retort hot on the tip of his tongue, but Ron grabbed his bicep, holding him back.

"There's a small office there with only four reapers, and a couple of extra hands is all they need. Since, Mr. Sutcliff, you are the head dispatcher, meaning you are only one rank below Mr. Spears, you are in charge of this operation from our end."

"Unless there's a promotion in this for me, I hope there's a better reason for sending me to the middle of nowhere," he mumbled under his breath. Only Ron heard him coherently.

William turned around slowly in his seat, staring daggers at Grell. He stared back, his heart fluttering involuntarily. Oh, how William's eyes could send shivers through his body when he looked at him like that. It was like they were piercing right through him to his very core.

Whether Mr. Cawley had heard the snide remark or not, he did not address it. He began to speak again, and William revolved back around in his seat once more to face him.

"Mr. Spears, tomorrow morning, you are to go over with the rest of the dispatchers in your division, what we have discussed here today. I have flights booked for all of you to Philadelphia leaving at 3:30 tomorrow afternoon. You should get there around 5:30 pm Eastern time and you'll go your separate ways from there. There will be reapers from your expecting branch offices there to collect you when you arrive."

There were nods around the room.

"And boys, I sincerely wish for your safety. Please, do be careful. We have no idea what this incident entails. There could be forces out of your ability to handle, so take it easy and figure out what you're up against before pushing yourselves too far. Although we reapers are fairly durable, don't be reckless. But of course, you all know what you are capable of. I trust you'll do a good job."

"Thank you, Sir." William said, nodding courteously. "We should get our rest then, it seems we have a busy couple of days ahead of us."

"Indeed."

All four men stood then, the three subordinates each politely shaking Mr. Cawley's hand before turning to leave the room. Each of them nodded before stepping silently through the threshold.

"Please, do take the proper measures to prepare yourselves for tomorrow," William said once they were out in the hallway. "I don't want any delays holding us up. There are people counting on us, and we must uphold this office's high standards."

"I don't think some low-expectation Yanks are going to think any less of us if we show up with scuffs on our boot heels," Grell replied. Unlike Ronald, Mr. Spears and Mr. Sutcliff had been around since the American colonies declared freedom from The Crown. Although it had been over two hundred years, sometimes when engaged in conversation, it was made more than obvious that bitter views on the matter were still being harbored toward the land of the "free."

"True or not, I will expect that you remain on nothing but your best behavior while you are off on your end of this job."

"Now William, how long have we known each other, and you don't trust me to keep decorum in a serious situation? I'm disappointed in you."

"I fail to see how that should concern me." He touched his glasses. Then, giving a curt nod, he turned on his heel. As he did so he added, "and pack light. You especially, Sutcliff."

With that, he hurried off down the hall, phasing out after only a few strides.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

*f_reak earthquake - in August of 2011, the east coast did have 5.8 magnitude earthquake, which originated somewhere in Virginia. According to the New York Times, it could be felt as far north as Ottowa and as far south as South Carolina. I was one of the people that didn't even feel anything. I was disappointed. :3_

I'm hoping this story does not offend anybody, although I know that the subject of 9/11 can touch a nerve with some people. However, it was a terrible thing that happened, and it did happen, and will forever be remembered for as long as there are humans living on this planet. For those of us who lived through it, it was probably one of the scariest days of our lives, whether you are an American or not. I saw Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close this past weekend, which was what inspired the idea for this fic. :3

Despite the fact that this first chapter seemed to be more focused on William, the reason I have marked this story as dealing with the characters of Grell and Ronald is because the story will soon follow their adventure in all this. If you have not guessed already, they are taking on the case of Flight 93; the plane that left from Boston, that was then hijacked, and was thought to have been targeting the White House or government building, except for the fact that the brave men and women on board risked their lives to save countless others and took the plane down in a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. The story of Flight 93 really hits home with me because it went down about 30 miles east of where I live. When I was ten, knowing that made me kind of proud, and I am still kind of proud, not because I want to be all, "oh I'm cool by association," but because whenever I think about what those people went through, I am in awe of their bravery, and I tear up every time. I'm doing it right now actually. lol

Anyway, on to more trivial matters, I had fun exploring the possibilities of Grell's interests in modern pop culture, which is why I spent so much time coming up with a back story to his character for this story. I'm not sure if Yana Toboso came up with him based off of hard rock culture, but it was too perfect an opportunity to miss, especially since I have been an enthusiast of this kind of music for a long time and could not help but notice the similarities. For instance, although Grell does not have "big hair" I can see him fitting in well with some of the hair bands from the 80's. And his hand gesture? The Maloik? Yes, that is what it is called. It is the Italian symbol of the evil eye. Look it up if you want specific details about the superstitions behind it. Besides the image of hair metal or hard-rock in general I also think he fits in because he is always claiming himself an actress, and a lot of bands at the time were all about putting on a show. Some good examples I can think of right now are bands like Gwar, Mötley Crüe, Twisted Sister and artists like Alice Cooper.

I'm not sure where I am taking this story in the next chapter, but I am hoping to keep this story to only a few chapters; like only four or five at the most. And if you want to know ahead of time, I will not be going into detail about any individual deaths themselves, so you can breathe easy. I know that I can be a little graphic sometimes when I get into it, but I am trying to write this fic with the utmost respectful attitude possible, so I will not be going that route. I feel a little disrespectful already just for having the fictional characters from a manga and the events of 9/11 together in one story.

Anyway, thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

It is impossible for a reaper to phase across oceans. Most can only phase to and from locations within his or her active district of business. If one is not within his or her district, then phasing is only possible to and from places that he or she has previously visited.

At that moment, as he searched for his dislocated bag in the overhead compartment, it was to William's dismay that phasing between Heathrow Airport and Philadelphia International had not been an option. Although in this day and age the most conventional means of covering such vast distances was by air, it still took almost eight hours to get from Great Britain to the United States, and he had not spent that much consecutive time with Grell Sutcliff since they were in the academy. Once they were on the ground, Mr. Spears felt he could not get off that plane fast enough. Yes, the twitching in his temple subsided with the knowledge that his orders had him heading off to New York City with the other six members of his division while Mr. Sutcliff would be left to his own devices in the green pastures of an Amish paradise.*

That's right, Mr. Sutcliff had been right by his side, between himself and Mr. Knox, throughout the duration of the flight. Ronald had originally been seated beside Albert Rutherford, a reaper for whom he had a rather strong distaste. However, he had exercised his power of persuasion to convince the lovely Jane Darling to switch seats with him. It was not hard considering that, to those who paid any shred of attention, her infatuation with Mr. Knox was glaringly obvious.

William had not wished Grell for a travel companion for eight straight hours either, but no one saw him taking any action against it. In fact, William's initial thought upon boarding the plane and observing this seating arrangement was that it might be nice to re-connect with his colleague. Despite the fact that he held a certain disdain for Mr. Sutcliff's personal brand of crazy, William still considered the two of them to be friends.

The situation had been all right at first. Grell found the SkyMall magazine in the pocket of the seat in front of him just before takeoff and began nit-picking the silly models and the ridiculous products they advertised. He and William had a nice laugh at the magic wand that was actually a television remote.*

After they had been in the air for about half an hour, Grell got bored with the catalogue and put it back where he found it. He then leaned forward, procuring a pack of playing cards from the small bag at his feet, enticing William into a game.

"Cricket or cribbage? I have the board in here too, if you'd prefer the latter."

"I much prefer Patience*."

Grell slapped him lightly on the arm, to which Will displayed a slight smirk, despite his desire to seem indifferent.

"You can't include me too?" Ronald chirped over Grell's shoulder.

"Back to your book, darling."

"We switched seats, remember?"

That earned Ronald a light slap as well, and the two less-intense reapers chuckled.

At any rate, Ron did go back to his book as Grell slid the cards from the box and shuffled. He and William played for a little while, until William became suspect that Grell was cheating and refused to continue any further with the game.

Obviously Grell had not appreciated William's prejudice, and so, for the rest of the trip, he had done what seemed like everything in his power to irritate his manager. He kicked the back of the seat in front of him, keeping time to the music that was blasting at eleven* through his headphones, after which William had apologized to the irate man who had been occupying the seat, and dragged his subordinate to the back of the plane to deal with him. Then, once they had returned to their seats, Grell supposedly grew so tired that he could not get comfortable within the boundary of his seat, and needed to extend his personal space to include William's as well. He fell asleep, cheek resting on his manager's shoulder.

"Mr. Sutcliff," William's voice was stern, "Get. Off. Now. I know you can hear me."

He moved his shoulder around, trying to shake Grell awake, but the red head would not budge. In fact, he only pulled himself closer by weaving his arms tightly around his manager's right arm. William had then tried to push Grell's face away with his free hand, but it proved a pointless effort, as he had come dangerously close to drawing back a stump. Even now, he could not believe that he was allowing Mr. Sutcliff's attempt at biting him to slide, but he was just too exhausted and irritated to care. And so, defeated, William had endured the rest of the flight in that uncomfortable position. Grell probably did fall asleep at some point though, because eventually he began to snore lightly, and then he stopped breathing altogether.

That had been a rather interesting inquest to try and explain to the stewardess.

All eight reapers quickly retrieved their bags from baggage claim –unable to wait any longer to get out of the stuffy airport, William led the charge– and headed toward the exit. Just outside, where droves of taxis lined the street awaiting to take people away to their final destinations, two serious looking reapers dressed in pristine, black, pinstriped suits held a sign that read, _William T. Spears and Company._ They wore tinted glasses, perched upon hard noses that only accentuated their chiseled facial features. They both wore their hair slicked back and combed perfectly into place.

"They're absolutely dreamy, wouldn't you agree?" Grell cooed, giving the waiting reapers a quick once over as he rubbed shoulders with William.

"Get lost Mr. Sutcliff," he snapped, turning on his subordinate like a territorial viper, "I've had enough of your antics for one day!"

Grell drew back, genuinely startled by William's tone. Although his boss was usually stern, he was never mean, and even if he were in a foul mood, he never allowed it to be shown. Grell knew this, and knew that a boundary had definitely been crossed. He would have to find some way to make it up to dear William when they returned home.

William and the six dispatchers bound for New York joined the reapers waiting for them. The manager spared Grell and Ronald just one disgusted glance over his shoulder before turning his back on both of them.

* * *

><p>The reaper who came to collect Mr. Sutcliff and his protégé had been running a little late. However, once he arrived at the airport, there were no London branch dispatchers to be found, and he had had to wait another half hour for the two of them to appear.<p>

Grell, opposed to being kept waiting, had spotted a rather quaint looking bar across the street and decided that it was more prudent that he and Ronald wait over there for their escort to show. Now, crossing back across the street, both Brits were pleasantly buzzed. Their escort was not happy.

"I do believe that lovely blonde was hitting on you Ronald." Grell flipped his hair over his shoulder. It was so long that it was sometimes hard to manage. "She _was_ rather pretty. It's a shame we couldn't have stayed."

"You're the one who dragged me outta there. I didn't even get a chance to get her number."

"Would you have called her even if you had gotten it?"

"Probably not, but it's the principal of the thing."

"You two!"

The companions stopped in their tracks at the sharp voice. A little further down the sidewalk, a man who looked to be about thirty wearing a green windbreaker and jeans had spotted them. Currently, he was storming through the scattered pedestrians littering the walk.

"You're the reapers I've been waiting for from London? Yes?"

"Sure are!" Ronald said pleasantly.

"Where the hell have you been?" His accent was difficult to place. "I've been waiting for you for over a half hour. Your plane was supposed to land an hour and a half ago. We got a four hour drive tonight, and you still need to be briefed. It's almost seven and they're expecting us aroun' ten!"

"Sorry, dear, I didn't catch your name," Grell interrupted, the condescension unmistakable in his cool tone. Or at least Ronald heard it. The native reaper did not seem to notice.

"The name's Jeff. Rankovich." He ran a hand nervously through his thin, brown hair. Was that a shudder of fear that Mr. Sutcliff noticed? Was Mr. Rankovich afraid of him? Was he afraid of what his boss back on the farm would say if they were late? Or was it something else entirely?

"Wonderful," Grell flashed his sharp teeth, and noticed another shudder shoot through Mr. Rankovich's body. Extremely satisfied, he continued, allowing notes of deep irritation to color his tone. "Now let me ask you this: Where were you a half hour ago when we actually got out of the terminal, hm? We don't know each other, but I'll have you know that I can't be expected to wait around for incompetent delivery men."

"I-I'm not incompetent! I've been around here long enough to know…"

"Hey! Cool it you two!" Ronald stepped between them. "Look. What's done is done. It's gonna be a long ride if we can't get along, so let's just forget about it and get moving. 'Kay?"

Jeff and Grell eyed each other up, clearly not able to simply just drop it. The former held his ground, but clearly Grell was winning. Ron tugged on his superior's arm, and Grell broke eye contact as he reached for his bag. He then turned to Ronald.

"Fine. But I call shotgun."

Grell wished to impress upon the native reaper, his authority and demand for respect. He had already made quite an impression, but it required physical action. Ronald knew this, and did not need to be told twice. After all, Grell was well versed in etiquette, and knew extremely well how certain actions translated into unspoken messages. He could also be quite the arrogant bastard when he wanted. And when he did not get his way, his temper was about a hundred times worse.

Although they had gotten off to a somewhat unpleasant start, Jeff's attitude lightened quickly once they had gotten out onto the road, and he was a little more agreeable to engage in conversation.

"So," Jeff began after they had been driving for a few minutes, "Aldo tells me yinz two are probably some of the best dispatchers they have. How long have you been in the field?"

Grell was the one to speak. "Probably?" he scoffed. "Dear, I have been around since your _great_ country was only thirteen, measly, little territories. I am one of the best there is. And if I remember correctly, your offices asked for assistance then too, seeing as your dispatch offices were just as inept and pathetic as your civilians."

"I wouldn't know anything about that. I'm not that old."

Grell leaned over the console to hover precariously on the edge of Mr. Rankovich's personal bubble. "What are you insinuating?" he gushed in mock sarcasm, fluttering his eyelids for effect.

Jeff shot him a quick sideways glance. "I-I didn't mean it like that. I only meant that…that compared to some other reapers I know, I'm fairly new. I've only been around for thirty years or so. Sometimes I forget how much the world has changed even in the short time since I was human."

Grell eased back a bit, allowing the man just a little more breathing room. He studied him in silence.

"So, have either of you ever been to the U.S. before?" Jeff asked.

"I believe Mr. Sutcliff has, but I've never been," Ronald spoke up once it was apparent Grell was not going to answer. "I've always wondered what it would be like to see some of the big cities. Los Angeles and Las Vegas seem pretty lively."

"Oh yes, Los Angeles is wonderful," Grell interjected, a hint of bitterness gracing his tone, "except that they don't know quality acting when they see it."

"I used to live in Las Vegas," said Jeff. "In fact, I ran quite a gambit there in my human days. Got me into a lotta trouble."

Suddenly a deathly silence fell over the party. Grell's eyes widened in shock, but he said nothing. Ronald was leaning forward in his seat, stunned puzzlement crossing his face. Mr. Rankovich continued.

"See, I ran a casino, but it got shut dahn for rigging the slot machines and paying high salaries to the dealers at the table games as a bribe for cheating. I stole a lot of money from a lotta people. I was a pimp for a while too. When I was nineteen, I was down on my luck. I hadn't wanted ta go ta school, so I moved ta Vegas trying to get rich in the casino business. Then my casino started to fail and I made some changes. And started that other side business I just mentioned."

A revolted look was plastered on Grell's face, the corners of his mouth turned downward in a frown of abhorrence. His form was rigid, his upper body turned slightly toward the driver seat. Ronald's jaw hung open, his mouth forming a perfect "O." His elbows rested on his knees and his body swayed slightly with the motion of the vehicle.

Americans had absolutely zero manners.

The man must have mistaken their disgust –obvious though it may have been– as interest, and kept going.

"But anyway, I eventually moved back to my hometown of Pittsburgh. I settled down out in Shanksville and had a family, but then there was an accident when I was twenty-six and here I am."

Grell and Ron continued to stare in shocked disbelief. At least he had not gone into detail about how he had died.

"So, how about you? What brought you here today?"

He expected at least one of them to answer. This man had just given them his entire life's story, and he did not think there was anything wrong with that. To Mr. Sutcliff and Mr. Knox however, it was as if he had dropped his trousers and took a piss right out the window. The only sound that could be heard was the wind rushing past the vehicle and the wheels on the pavement.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Grell made a sound in the back of his throat as if he had just touched cat vomit, and turned to the window. Ronald leaned over the console between Jeff and his superior.

"Sir, I'm not sure if you're aware, but personal details like that are not something we like to discuss. I don't know the customs of you American reapers, but in Great Britain, it's seen as something of a touchy subject to discuss one's human life."

"Oh…" Jeff said, ashamedly, "I'm so sorry."

There was a good five or ten minutes that they just rode in silence. Grell eventually clicked on the radio and put his feet on the dash, lounging back in the seat with his eyes closed. He gave an exasperated groan as he got himself situated and that was the last anyone heard from him for the rest of the trip.

Ron, however, took the opportunity to take in the scenery of which, there was not much. Once they had gotten out of the city, mostly everything he saw was flat grassland. Whether it was farmland or not, there were large expanses of grass everywhere, with thin lines of trees dividing the properties. And as they made their way further west, the flat lands began to swoop and dip and form into a more hilly landscape, but there still was not much to look at besides vegetative wildlife with the occasional house or barn every now and then. It occurred to him that the scenery was a lot like that of the English countryside, though there was something that he just could not put his finger on that made this place somehow more exotic. Perhaps it was the exotic dancer on the billboard they had just passed. There were other billboards too, advertising everything from upcoming and newly released movies, to doctors to bible passages and clever religious sayings. Roadside diners, motels and adult bookstores were also scattered about, though it did not help to break up the monotony. However, by the time they had gotten sufficiently out of the surrounding Philadelphia area, it was quite dark, making it nearly impossible to see anything past the edge of the road. Ronald did appreciate the way that the sun, as it slipped behind the edge of the earth, painted the sky with a beautiful spectrum of color. Toward the point where it had sunk down, it was a beautiful crimson color, which slowly faded to orange, to pink to purple to the deep bluish-violet that colored the remainder of the night sky. He thought about waking Grell just to show him, but thought better of it. Grell was in a foul mood already, and was not the type of person who appreciated being roused without good reason.

By about eleven o'clock or so, they reached their destination. Ronald had fallen asleep at some point, and by the time they pulled in at the house, Grell was awake.

"We're here, sleepy head," Grell shouted in Ronald's ear. The younger reaper had been sleeping in a sitting position, but found his face buried in the seat when Grell shoved him.

"I can see that," Ron croaked, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. "Was that really necessary?"

"You need to fight the jet lag. No sleeping just yet." Grell grinned, waggling a finger at him.

Once they had unloaded the back of the Blazer, they phased to the other realm, and were met with a street just as dead and lifeless as their clientele. There was a brick four story complex on one side of the road and a white farmhouse on the other. They headed up to the complex and entered.

The bottom floor had a large entryway with a sitting area off to the left, and a stairwell to the right. In the back of the building there was a kitchen and dining area. It did not seem like anyone was home. Jeff led them up the stairs to the top floor, and in a small attic loft area, they dumped their bags on the makeshift beds that had been set up for them. Grell was not pleased. He was already grumpy from jet lag, his quarrel with Jeff, and the uncomfortable nap he had taken in the car. Now he was expected to make due in a hot, poorly ventilated, attic space for the next week. He knew he should be on his best behavior for his hosts, but in irritated mood that had befallen him, he would show these reapers just how unpleasant he could be.

The Shanksville dispatch office was set up in the farmhouse they had seen across the street. They could not linger in their new, temporary living quarters, as they were expected over in the office as soon as possible, and were already late. That sat perfectly fine with Grell. The night had transpired into nothing but misery. Perhaps some work would take his mind off of his anguish.

When they entered the office, a flight of stairs to the right lead to the upper floor, and a vacant reception area was just off the hall to the left. To the right was what looked like a lounge, and at the end of the hallway that led past the stairs stood a frosted glass door with the name Rome Fonda in black letters printed on it. The entryway of this house almost mirrored that of the apartment complex across the street.

Jeff led them up the staircase. On the second floor, a large space with four desks organized into two separate clumps was set up to the right of the staircase. To the left were a few other desks and a projection screen with a semi circle of chairs organized around that. Right now, a group of three reapers congregated in that space.

"Welcome back Jeffery!" came a joking, male voice. "I see you made it back in one piece!"

"Yeah, you know, driving can be dangerous." Jeff rolled his eyes. Judging by this gesture, Ronald could guess that this reaper was Jeff's Albert Rutherford.

"And I see the new recruits made it here alright. Name's Adam Galvin. Pleasure." He stuck out his hand, and Ronald was the first to take it. Grell took it tentatively afterward.

"Adam, this here is Ronald Knox, and the London Branch's head dispatcher, Grell Sutcliff, Jeff said introducing them.

"Sutcliff? You related to Peter Sutcliffe? I remember hearing about that maniac in the news back in the 70's."

"No. No relation." Grell's voice was flat and unenthused. No need to mention that the Yorkshire Ripper had only gotten his namesake from Grell's exploits as the more infamous Jack the Ripper* of the late 19th century.

"Interesting. Well come on over," he waved for the others to follow.

"Good evening, gentlemen," one of the women spoke up as they entered the circle. "I do hope you had an enjoyable flight." Grell heard the refinement in her speech almost instantly as opposed to the boisterous tone that he had noticed spewing from the mouths of these natives since they landed. The dialect of this area was akin to that of nails on a chalkboard, and his ears could not take it any longer. Her soft, delicate speech was much appreciated, despite his current irritation with everything else around him at the moment. He knew instantly that she must be older. He dared ask though, as he knew better than to quiz a woman on her age.

She continued. "My name is Rome Fonda. I'm the manager of this branch. It is a pleasure and an honor to be working with such distinguished reapers as yourselves."

She shook each of their hands, and Grell could see that Ron was instantly enamored with her. He had to admit, though not particularly interested in the female creature, she was quite pretty. She had long, dark, wavy hair that fell to about the middle of her back, and a perfect hourglass figure. Her eyes reminded Grell of a cat's and they were set above full lips. Her skin was a light toasty brown color, as if she were of Hispanic or Italian descent. Judging by her name alone, Grell concluded it was the latter.

"An honor to be working with you as well, _Mademoiselle,_" Ronald crooned. Grell chuckled.

"Please. Come join us. We were just preparing for your arrival."

The other reaper, whom they had not met yet, was also female. She looked young, as if she were only sixteen or seventeen. Her reddish brown hair fell in a single French braid just past her shoulders, and her almond-shaped eyes were half-covered by a shaggy fringe. She had freckles dotting her button-like nose. It looked as if she wore a light dusting of makeup, hinted at by her subtle pink lip-gloss. Her dress was plain; a light pink, flannel shirt fell over a white tank top, and baggy jeans dragged below the heels of her black Chuck Taylors.

"You've already met Adam," Rome said, passing him a quick glance as he bowed slightly. "…And Jeffery." Then she turned to the girl sitting before them. "This is Gabrielle Elizabeth Goodwin. She is still new here, so please be patient with her. She is close to getting her permanent glasses, but there are some skills she has yet to master."

The girl looked ornery, as if she still had not had the sass beaten out of her yet. Grell remembered how he had been as a new recruit, and recognized something of himself in just her expression alone.

Making a point with her middle and index fingers, Gabrielle gave a slight salute to the two newcomers. They nodded in response.

"Now, gentlemen, we need to brief you on what's going on. Please, make yourselves comfortable." Rome gestured to the empty seats in the semi-circle and they sat.

Rome stepped to the screen, touching a button at the top, and the screen flickered on. A picture of a skull with angel wings on either side appeared on the screen: the Shanksville office insignia. "As you will know already, there is an event happening tomorrow. We have acquired enough details to know that New York City is going to be hit the worst, and that this is, in fact, going to be a world event. Here, we have thirty-eight deaths to account for. Now, in regards to what we're actually dealing with, incident wise, what we know is this…"

An image of the records to be completed in the morning appeared on the screen. Grell and Ron both leaned forward in eager anticipation of learning their task.

"They all end with the same description, 'dies by plane crash at 10:03 am.' From memos that I have received, there are to be forty people on board this plane, and two of them will die before the crash. There is another reaper in Newark, New Jersey, the plane's origination point, who will take care of those souls. He will deplane just before the crash, after which, his duties will be carried out under our charge.

"Our goal is simple. Collect the souls of the victims and file the necessary paperwork. Thirty-eight souls is not a hefty amount, but the faster we can have the mess cleaned up, the better. Which is why Mr. Sutcliff and Mr. Knox have joined us here today."

"Excuse me?" Gabrielle raised her hand. "How can we collect them if they're going to be mangled in all that wreckage? And you've told me that when a person's body burns, so does their soul. More than likely, the plane is going to catch fire and destroy them all. So how exactly does this work?"

Grell leaned forward, more than happy to give his input. "You're a smart little one, aren't you?"

She stared at him, unsure what to make of the comment.

"It's situations like these when you have to be creative, honey. Think about it. Death scythes have gotten much more advanced lately. There are heat-seeking guns, bows and arrows, flame-throwers…. The possibilities are endless these days. I personally prefer my chainsaw but that's my prerogative."

"Yes, Gabby," Rome said. "As you have pointed out, how we go about this situation is essential. We do not want to lose any souls, but it may not be able to be helped. Another reason we have asked for assistance from some more experienced reapers."

"Where exactly is this going to happen?" Adam queried.

"Glad you asked, I was just getting to that part." Rome changed the slide and a picture of a field appeared. She pointed to the tree line.

"Right here."

"A question, if I may," Grell spoke up, his tone snippy.

"Yes, Mr. Sutcliff?"

"Is there any indication as to _wh__y_ a plane is going to crash in a field in the middle of nowhere? Am I the only one who thinks this is odd?"

"Not at all, Sutcliff," Jeff replied, "obviously this is an odd occurrence or we wouldn't have sent for help. You being here is sign enough that this is going to be a freak accident."

"All right. I've had it with you tonight, my good sir. You have been poking at me since we met, and I am not in the right spirits to tolerate such disrespect."

"Mr. Sutcliff," Rome pled quietly in the background. Ron grabbed Grell by the jacket and attempted to pull him back down.

"Hey boss, cool it, would ya? I'm sure he didn't mean it like that."

Ron succeeded in getting Grell to take his seat once again, but his senior was seething, he could tell. It had been a long day, and Grell needed to get a good night's sleep before the rest of the reapers here had to suffer.

"Mr. Sutcliff, please know that I do not tolerate insolence in this outfit. For the time being, you are a member of this office, and I will treat you as such. That means I will take action if I need to, and you will be treated just like any other officer here who steps out of line."

"Yes, ma'am." Grell suddenly felt drained. He did not even have the energy to take the argument any further, and so submission seemed to be the right way to go.

"Thank you." Rome then addressed the whole of the congregation. "Everyone, thanks for waiting. I'm sure we'll do a good job tomorrow. It's late and we've got an early morning, so please, get your rest. I'll see you back here at eight."

The meeting adjourned, and most of the reapers quickly dispersed. It was late, and especially for Grell and Ron, they were running at least six hours ahead of all the others.

When they made it to their stuffy room in the loft, Grell flopped down on the thin metal cot and fell asleep almost instantly.

That was the thing Ronald liked about sharing a room with Grell: when his superior was tired enough, he slept so deeply that he stopped breathing altogether, and not even the stampede of the four horsemen could wake him.

* * *

><p>*<em>Amish paradise – obviously, a play on words using the title of "Weird" Al's parody of Gangster's Paradise. Contrary to what some people may think, it is utter hokum that all people from Pennsylvania are technologically impaired Mennonites. In fact, most Amish live in Lancaster County, which is in the south east of the state, about 50 miles west of Philadelphia. I am obviously using this preconception as a device to illustrate that William shares these same ideas; that all Pennsylvanians are simple and live like the Amish do. However, the area to which Grell and Ron have been assigned, Somerset Country, where Flight 93 went down, is in Western Pennsylvania, about 145 miles west of Amish country.<em>

_Also, although I have used the terms "Amish" and "Mennonite" interchangeably here, that is actually incorrect. They are two different things, even though they stem from the same set of beliefs._

_*Magic Wand Television Remote – Actually exists. I looked it up._

_*Solitaire in the U.S._

_*Reference from the movie _This is Spinal Tap.

*_Conversely, Toboso actually named Grell after Peter Sutcliffe and cast him in the part of Jack the Ripper precisely because Peter Sutcliffe was known as the Yorkshire Ripper._

**Author's Notes:** _Long chapter is EXTREMELY long!_ I_ think I have too much fun writing Grell's character. That is why there is so much unnecessary blabbering about what they did on the plane and well… everything else. I know I can be too wordy and get hung up on unnecessary details sometimes. But it is a known fact that I am quite prone to tangents._

_The whole play on words with the Jane "Darling" and Grell calling Ronald "darling" was actually a coincidence. I did not make that her last name just so I could set that up, it just kind of happened. Happy accident :3_

_Wow, describing Pennsylvania as exotic… that was the last thing I ever thought I'd do. PA is one of the most boring states in the country. And I know. I live here._

_Is my writing style too dry? I kind of think it can be. I'd like some feedback on this matter if anyone could be so generous. I'd really like to improve if need be, and I feel like one can always improve regardless._


	3. Chapter 3

_I guess I should be putting this on my other chapters but obviously, Kuro characters are ©Yana Toboso and SquareEnix_**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The next morning brought with it sunshine and the twittering of birds. There must have been thousands of birds, and their music surrounded the building like Nature's own symphony orchestra. They were nothing like Ronald had ever heard in either his past or present life and it was wonderful. He wished he could wake up to these sounds every morning.<p>

Though the golden rays that poured through the single window of the loft were stunningly beautiful, the heat that was already beginning to reach suffocating levels was not so pleasant. Kicking the sheets off the foot of his cot, Ron sat up, looking to his senior, who lay sprawled on his stomach in the same position and in the same clothes in which he had collapsed the night prior.

Ron slipped out of bed and crossed the room. He examined Grell's motionless form, which was still as stone. His chest did not rise and fall with breathing. A small dribble of drool issued from the corner of his mouth and pooled on the sheets beneath his face. If Ronald had not known better, he would have thought his colleague dead as a doornail.

A small, analog clock hung above the doorway, indicating that it was just a few minutes before 7:30. Ronald wondered how long it would take Grell to ready himself. They had until eight before they had to be at the office, and Grell had not so much as twitched all night, so his hair still looked okay. That may be one less thing he would have to worry about. He probably wanted to change though. Perhaps the two of them could get some breakfast too.

In the end, Ron decided it was best to wake him. It proved more difficult than he expected it would be.

Hesitantly, Ron gave Grell's shoulder a little shove with his forefinger. Nothing. He shoved him a little bit harder using the palm of his hand, and the motionless body before him jiggled with the force and the bouncing of the cot, but that was it. Ron tried giving Grell's body a forceful shove using both hands. Still, he got no response. He tried slapping, punching and kicking him —but not hard enough to make a mark, as Grell would have personally seen to his demise had he done so— but all to no avail. He even thought about biting him, then thought better of it. Ron had done all of this without saying a word, but it seemed there was nothing else he could do at this point. He did not want to shout though, as the native reapers lived on the floors below and he did not want to cause a commotion. However, he tried speaking into Grell's ear quietly at first, just to see if he could get a reaction.

"Grell. Get up mate, ya big palooka." He pushed him lightly again as he said this.

Ronald was shocked by the results.

Suddenly, Grell's chest inflated, a sharp intake of air rushing into his lungs. He exhaled loudly before his eyelids began to flutter. Animation slowly crept back to his immobile body parts, joints cracking as he stretched, his brain slowly coming to. Ron stepped back in amazement.

Grell was silent a moment while his body slowly became more functional, and he rolled onto his side. Then he rubbed his eyes, his gaze shifting up to Ron.

"Good morning, sleepy head." Ron grinned.

"Alright, I'm getting up," he groaned. His voice sounded dry like it had not been used in years.

Ron was surprised that Grell did not protest. His senior slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position, his hair hanging about his shoulders like the vines of a willow tree. He bent over his lap for a moment, rubbing his face.

It was no wonder Grell always had so much energy. Not only was he deadly efficient, but he slept like the dead too.

Ronald turned back to his own cot and slid his luggage from under the bed, digging out the standard suit and tie of the London Dispatch Office. As he changed, he turned around just in time to see Grell pulling a white undershirt over his head. Was that a tattoo under his right arm? He thought he saw what looked like a little red heart inked onto his senior's ribcage. Ronald did not create a fuss over it though. It was too early to tell whether or not his colleague was in a hostile mood, and Ron was not accustomed to Grell's morning habits or routine.

Grell finished dressing, donning a black blazer with faint, red pinstripes over top of a dark-red, button-down shirt. The look was completed with a solid, black tie and those tiny embellishments that distinguished the outfit as being genuinely of Grell's design: black buttons and white cuff links all molded into the image of skulls.

Not knowing where to get anything to eat or having enough time to do so, they headed over to the office. Rome, Gabby and Adam were already there.

"Good morning!" came Adam's cheerful greeting as the two Brits appeared at the top of the stairs. Ron waved with as much spirit as he could muster, but the black cloud of Grell's early morning grumpiness was casting a shadow over his own mood. Grell simply nodded in response.

"You guys want some coffee?" Adam asked as he headed past them down the stairs.

"None for me. Thanks anyway though," Ronald said pleasantly. "Is there anything to eat?"

"Not yet. Jeff's bringing something though. He said he'd be late because he was getting food."

"Brilliant!"

"Any coffee for you?" Adam pointed his question, this time, to the redhead.

"No, thanks. I'm alright," he answered curtly.

Adam's bright expression dropped as he picked up on the foulness Grell was displaying.

"Oh. Right. You guys like tea, right? We have some tea if you'd prefer."

Curtly again, he answered, "Fine. That would be lovely." Grell wanted nothing more than for this man to get away from him. It took all of his energy to be reasonable and put on a professional appearance. He had promised William he would behave, and he did not want to let his boss down.

He was not usually like this. It was bad enough that he had been sent on duty in the middle of nowhere, but the men here were so unattractive and slovenly that there was little consolation for his troubles. He watched as Adam finished his descent of the stairs. The man's lanky frame and unkempt mullet that was pulled back into a ponytail made Grell feel dumber for just being in his presence. No matter. Work would begin soon, and he tried to be optimistic about that, at least.

The two British reapers headed over to the semi-circle, where Rome and Gabrielle had already convened. The image of a news program from a small television was projected onto the screen, the volume turned all the way down.

"Yes. Yes, I see." Rome spoke into the telephone receiver at her ear. "There's no movement at all?" She waited for the response from the other end. "I suppose it will work out though. 10:03, correct? That is what the records say. Okay. Uh huh. Buh, bye."

She hit the off button on the dial pad and held the phone in her lap.

"That was our contact, John, in Newark. He says the flight is delayed and he does not yet know when it's going to be taking off. The flight was supposed to leave now, but he says they're just sitting on the tarmac at the moment."

Grell looked to the clock on the wall. It was just past eight o'clock.

Adam returned a few minutes later with the beverages, and then took a seat. Grell sipped the liquid hesitantly, testing the temperature and flavor. The drink was nothing special, but it was not completely wretched. How the man had known just the right amount of sugar to add, he did not know. Lucky guess perhaps? He took solace in this fact, and felt a little better about his current disposition.

Taking a seat next to Ronald in the semi-circle, he continued to sip his tea, listening as the others made light conversation. The five of them chatted for a while, and soon, the British reapers came to learn that Rome was actually an Italian reaper originally from a small office in Sicily. With the immigration boom of the early 1900's, she had followed her kinsmen to the United States, just as many other reapers at the time had been obligated to do. With so many people flocking to the land of opportunity looking for better lives, the American reapers suddenly found their offices too small and ill-equipped handle the workload. Logically, more people meant more deaths. With conditions such as they were at the time in the larger east-coast cities, taking care of the souls of the deceased became an extremely difficult task. Therefore, it seemed only fair that some European reapers should relocate to the U.S. to pick up the slack. Rome had been around since about the same time Ronald had entered the force. Being that she was lower in the ranks at the time of the immigration boom, she was one of the lucky dispatchers who had been nominated to relocate. She had been twenty-seven at the time of her recruitment: four years older than Grell had been.

Gabrielle, who preferred to be called Gabby, as Ron had been corrected, had been recruited a little less than three years ago at the age of seventeen. Grell and Ron both thought it odd that she was still in training even three years later, but apparently there were many more rules and regulations in the United States than in Britain that required mastering. Pennsylvania in particular had high expectations for reaper education, and demanded extensive knowledge in every area of the profession. This made it difficult for any reaper to become certified in less than three years in this state. The thought crossed Grell's mind that conservative, Yankee values did not die easily.

Jeff eventually showed up with donuts and bagels. It was only then that both Grell and Ron noticed how hungry they really were, and just how loudly their stomachs had been growling as an indication.

At about ten till nine, after they had gotten a little cozier with one another and had some sugar in their systems, Rome noticed that a breaking news report had appeared on the screen and turned up the volume. They stared at the projector screen in excited anticipation.

It was starting.

"As you can see, smoke is issuing from the top of the North Tower of the World Trade Center," the reporter stated, matter-of-factly, narrating the video feed. "Reports indicate that a plane crashed into the building, and that it appeared to be a commercial liner of some kind. Though whether the crash was accidental remains to be determined."

Gabby had recoiled into a state of silent disbelief. She stared blankly at the screen, her fingers lightly touching her slightly-parted lips.

"Oh my God," she croaked.

"What's wrong?" Rome asked obliviously.

It looked as if Gabby were having trouble finding her voice, but eventually it came to her. "Planes are crashing into buildings?" She paused dramatically for a moment before continuing, allowing her statement to sink in. It obviously had no effect on the others because they stared at her like she had a skunk on her head. "Why are there planes… crashing into buildings? Doesn't anybody else think this is odd?"

"I've been trying to figure that out since last night, but no one else seemed to think anything about my inquiry," Grell piped in.

"There's going to be more isn't there?" Now it looked as if she were holding back tears. She knew the answer to her own question and realized how stupid she sounded after asking it. The mission briefing from last night came to mind, and she knew that all these things were interconnected with the plane that was set to crash nearby. Also, Grell and Ronald were testament to that. They would not be here if the extent of the situation were contained to the one incident currently being reported on the screen.

"I would assume, yes." Rome's voice was quiet, a near whisper. Her hands were in her lap, still clutching the cordless phone. "Remember? We all have appointments at ten."

"Oh God," Gabby breathed, leaning back in her seat and covering her mouth again. She squeezed her eyes shut, and Grell saw a tear slide down her face. He was a rather observant person, and, seeing as he had been around for so long, had grown especially sensitive to certain behaviors and knowing what they meant. There was something more than just the matter of planes flying into buildings that was upsetting Gabby.

* * *

><p>Over the next hour or so, a horror, the likes of which none of the reapers in the room could fathom, played out before them on the screen.<p>

After the crash of the North Tower, they had sat around in near silence for a long time, watching as the building on the screen burned, out of anyone's power to stop it. At this point, Grell had been feeling a little more himself, now that he was fully awake and fed, but he was growing bored.

Every now and again, Jeff or Adam —whom Grell eventually deemed friendly enough in his mind, but also irritated him to no end with their brashness— would strike up a conversation, or at least _try_ to strike up a conversation, if only to ease the tension in the room. Gabby's despondent stillness had not done much to help the atmosphere.

"I know what pimping can do to a person. I used to be one. I know."

"Oh my God, Jeff, you can't just go around telling people personal details like that! Don't you have any manners?" Adam chastised.

Jeff gave Grell and Ronald a sheepish, sideways glance.

"You told them your life's story too, didn't you, Jeff?"

"I… no. I wasn't thinking!"

"You've got to stop doing that! When are you going to learn? People don't want to hear about your crappy human life, just as much as they don't want to share theirs with you."

Jeff gave them another sheepish look.

So not all American reapers were ignorant of the taboos of reaper kind. Just Jeff.

Grell and Ron both had a good laugh over his faux pas.

"Do we have a plan?" Gabby eventually asked, softly. She seemed to be trying to take her mind off of the news reports. "I know I asked last night, but do we have any strategy?"

"Well, John is supposed to take two souls while the plane is still in the air. If the plane burns, we may lose some souls, but we have to try our best to get in there. If that means walking through the flames to get to them, then so be it. Those people's last actions are going to be heroic. Their souls don't deserve to just disappear." Rome spoke softly, as if trying not to startle the girl.

"You mean they're going to fight?" she asked.

"Yes. The record reads," here Rome pulled out her own record book and began to recite one of the entries, "after hearing of the other incidents in New York, and realizing their flight is probably headed toward Washington D.C., he will fight with several others to take back the plane to prevent further casualties in the Capitol."

Everyone's jaw dropped. So they were dealing with the one incident in this whole massacre that would be the special case, the wrinkle in the plan, the flight that would not go down without a fight.

"Oh god…" Gabby's eyes were wet with emotion.

Grell felt terrible for the girl. It was so obvious that she was struggling, and no one else seemed to see it. Or if they did, they turned a blind eye. There were times when the grooming behaviors the older reapers used to break the new ones were inappropriate, and this was one of those times. He wanted to pat her on the shoulder at the very least, and reassure her that it would all be okay. But he did not want any of these strangers to know that he was capable of feeling compassion. Whether these reapers were familiar with his past exploits or not, he had a reputation to uphold.

Growing bored of the dreariness of the atmosphere and idle nattering between the two native male reapers, Grell decided to step outside for some fresh air.

The country was quite beautiful, and wonderfully serene. Knowing now just what it was the New York offices were dealing with, he would not have traded that job for this. He preferred the big city, but the country had its perks too, even if there was a tendency for it to be rather boring.

It was such a beautiful, cloudless day. How such horrors could be allowed to happen on a day like this… it was just not right.

A few moments later, he heard the front door bang, and Ron joined him.

"It's amazing, isn't it?"

Grell's brow furrowed as he looked at Ronald. "How so?"

"I can't decide if the images on the telly are real or not. It doesn't seem possible on a day so perfect."

Grell gave a little chuckle. "I was just thinking that myself."

The two of them stood in silence for a moment before Ron spoke up. "No doubt you've noticed how torn up Gabby is about all this."

"You noticed too? I was wondering if anyone was going to say anything about it."

"Yeah, I feel real sorry for her. She's still young. She still hasn't lost her ability to relate to the dead."

"You forget though Ronald, that she's only three years passed. She probably still has immediate family out there somewhere. It's easy to relate to the dead when they could be your relatives."

"So you're saying…"

"I think she knows someone in those towers. That's why she's so distraught."

Ronald did not know how to respond. He had not thought of that.

They stood there in silence for a long while, just listening to the birds sing. Their chorus was not as loud as it had been when they awoke, but their intermittent warbling was still pleasant. They listened to the sounds of two robins in two different trees, calling and responding to one another. They heard the cooing sounds of morning doves. It was soothing, a calm before the storm as it were.

Suddenly, their reverie was interrupted, as Adam threw open the front door and it banged off the wall behind it. The two Brits spun around to see him hanging from the doorframe.

"You guys, come back inside. The other tower's been hit."

Back in the office, Gabby openly sobbed, and not even Rome's words of comfort could console her. Gabby appeared to be trying to stifle her pain, but was failing miserably. The tears that streaked down her face were proof enough.

This time, the news stations had footage of the incident, since people had been actively watching since the first crash.

"Just moments ago, at 9:03 am, another explosion was seen at the top of the South Tower of the World Trade Center," said the reporter. She narrated the footage that played on the screen. "Here we can see clearly, a commercial jet flying directly into the building above the seventy-seventh floor, to the eruption of panicked screams down here in the streets. Chaos has broken out and people everywhere are frantic, running in every direction, calling loved ones on cell phones, and those who don't have cell phones are searching for any phone they can find. President Bush, who is currently in Florida reading to the second grade class of a Sarasota elementary school, is being alerted as I speak. Though everything at the moment seems to make little sense, one fact remains blatantly clear. The United States is under attack. Though who planned this attack is still being investigated."

Grell now felt a little on edge. This... atrocity, this _shit_ —there was no better word for it— was frightening as hell. He looked to Ronald whose expression was stricken with horror. At that moment, Grell thought of William, and hoped that he was okay. He did not doubt that the manager would be fine: William was a big boy. He knew how to take care of himself. Grell was thankful that he had Ronald by his side, and out of harm's way, at least for the time being. Grell did not know what he would do if he lost either of them. The other reapers in the division, he could live without, but William and Ronald were his closest, if not his only, true friends. They were irreplaceable.

Had he been human he may have been just as upset as Gabby was right now, though he may have expressed it in a different way. Maybe he was wrong about her having a relative in the towers. Maybe she still felt that sense of fear that would have been a natural gut reaction for any human being who called this country home. Again, he thought of William, and what he must be going through at this very moment. How were the New York offices handling this? Were there any demons involved? It would not surprise him if there were. The fact that there were people evil enough to attack innocent citizens in such a despicable way as using commercial jets as missiles was reason enough to believe that demons were present.

The next hour played out like a horrendous nightmare. At twenty till ten, reports came in that another commercial plane had destroyed one side of U.S. military base, The Pentagon, just as the vice president was being evacuated from the Capitol. Although many people there had been injured or killed, it did not seem as huge a loss as the Trade Centers in New York. The news programs seemed to quickly breeze over that story and move on.

Not long after The Pentagon incident, the FAA grounded all flights over and coming to the United States, and in D.C., The White House and Capitol buildings were both evacuated. There was one plane left in flight that had yet to be accounted for.

Even Grell and Ronald, who had no reason to care about the problems of this country, knew how serious the situation was. The events that passed today were going into the history books. This was something that would not easily be forgotten by the world, if only for the vicious and sadistic nature of the attacks. This was a declaration of war if ever there was one. People died all the time, it was a part of nature, and attacks were commonplace on the battlefield, but these were innocent people being massacred, and for what? What purpose did anybody have to take so many innocent lives; lives that had done these terrorists no personal harm? And the fact that people in this world evil enough to do this to innocent citizens even existed at all did not sit will with any of them. Not a single reaper in that room could abide these actions, no matter how long past their humanity they were. This was wrong. Even reapers with no sense of empathy toward the matters of human kind knew that.

Grell felt a bloodlust rising in him, a feeling he had not known for quite a while. The last time he had truly felt such a frenzy, was back when he had been accomplice to Angelina Barnett in the killings in Whitechapel. He had had bouts every once in a while, but nothing ever so extreme that it had gotten him into trouble the way it had then. That incident had been his wakeup call. He had reexamined his existence and had been doing extremely well in dealing with his urges after that point. He liked what he did as a reaper, and never wanted to compromise that ever again. Now though, that unhinged desire to slaughter, to be drenched in the blood of a helpless victim was bubbling to the surface once more, and he would not be satisfied until he slaked his lust.

"All right everyone," Grell announced, calling out his death scythe and revving the engine. The others in the room gasped and jumped back in surprise. "Let's get to reaping! There's a plane load of people who've got an appointment with the wrong end of my death scythe, so let's not keep them waiting, shall we?" He turned on his heel and bolted from the room, waving his weapon and moaning with incensed passion the whole way down the stairs and out the front door.

The others looked around at each other, clearly confused, wondering where that maniac had come from. Ronald rolled his eyes.

"Don't worry about him. He's known for being a complete nutter."

"That makes me feel so much better," Rome replied, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

"He's harmless really. Well, to other reapers at least. He'd never hurt another of his own kind. He's not that mental."

"Right… well." Rome attempted to shake off the last couple seconds and stood, rallying the others. "I say we follow Mr. Sutcliff's initiative and start moving into position, shall we?"

The others all voiced their agreement, then made their way toward the stairs.

By nine fifty, the party had secured their positions. No one was quite sure where Grell had run off to, but decided it was best to just leave him to it. Ronald assured them he would come through for them, and they took his word for it, for the most part. Now, all that was left to do was wait.

* * *

><p><em>I quite enjoyed that last part about Grell hurtling from the room and moaning with incensed passion. I hope you think it's a silly as I do :3<em>

_I have been doing my research on 9/11 (if that wasn't obvious already by my precise timings and such) and a good source I found is the interactive timeline from the 9/11 Memorial Website. I can't link on this site obviously, but it's not hard to find. I like it because they have pictures, video, text, audio clips and also audio clips of interviews done with survivors. I almost cried at one point when I found it, listening to and watching some of the stuff on there._


	4. Chapter 4

_Kuroshitsuji ©Yana Toboso and SquareEnix_

**I hope you'll find this chapter as exciting as I do! I was extremely eager to get it out because I was on such a roll with it! **(Consequently don't expect the next update this soon, haha)

Just a note: this chapter is written from several points of view, kind of like the others, but it's not as distinct. I'm sure it won't be hard to figure out who's point of view it is when you read it.

* * *

><p>The world quaked, but this was no slip in the geological crust. This was the sound of lives ending, of humanity screaming for deliverance. The sound came as a deafening, thunderous rumble, high above at first, but growing louder and louder as dust and debris began to fall outside. People all throughout the lobby were crying, shrieking in fear, scrambling to regain solid traction beneath their feet.<p>

The amount of records that were completing several seconds from now filled three full books. Yet, where were the other reapers who were supposed to be working on this case with him? Scanning the frantic mob, there was not a single familiar face to be seen.

Suddenly, everything was enveloped in blackness. William felt a crushing pressure overtake his entire body and the rumbling sound became that much louder, though muffled as it was through the debris that now bore down on his body. As he slowly began to realize what was happening, the pressure quickly increased to an immeasurable degree and he felt several bones throughout his body snap.

It had fallen. The South Tower had fallen and now he was trapped in the rubble.

Reapers could take a lot of damage, but they were not entirely indestructible. If his body were squashed flat, there would be little anyone could do for him. He needed to get out of this mess now or he would cease to be.

He pictured in his mind, a building nearby from which he had stood and observed the scene earlier that morning. Summoning all the energy he could muster, he willed his body to transport to that spot. It worked, but his feet met a void and he fell three stories, landing on his tailbone from which came a nice, pleasant crack. As if he were not in enough pain already.

Of course. The tower had probably fallen on the building he had been thinking about, which is why he had appeared in midair. No matter. At least now he was out of the rubble.

William was in excruciating pain. His whole body felt like it had shattered into a million little pieces. If he were human, he would most certainly be dead. Mentally assessing the damage, he surmised that both of his legs were broken in multiple places, most of his ribs were cracked and his skull had been fractured starting at his forehead and running all the way to the base of his neck. His face was probably frightfully disfigured too. He could feel blood pouring from his nose, and the blood that was smeared across his cheeks, chin and lips began to harden and grow sticky as it coagulated in the open air. His spine felt like it had snapped in a few places too, and he could feel the fluids draining profusely from his organs into his chest and intestinal cavities.

He tried to put the pain out of his mind however, as he now needed to focus on recuperating. His injuries were extensive, but he would recover. It was nothing his body could not handle. It was one of the perks that came with being a supernatural creature.

William lay sprawled on his back across the rubble, trying to breathe, but failing miserably. A loud sucking sound was coming from his chest and he knew that it was probably due to a punctured lung if not two.

Staring up at the sky, he watched the smoke pour out of the remaining tower that loomed overhead. It was all he could do until he was healed enough to get back on his feet. He just hoped that his recovery would be swift, because more likely than not, the other tower would fall too, and then he would be right back to square one, though with less energy to free himself a second time.

There was a cell phone he had purchased the day before tucked safely into his breast pocket. If only he had enough power to move his arms to get to it, then maybe he could get a call out to Jane or Albert or somebody who was on his side who would actually come and help him. He needed to get out of this danger zone, and knew that none of the New York reapers would be of any use.

This was the last time he did the New York offices any favors. The bastards had sent him into the precarious building knowing full well of its fate. They were all cocky jerks. They had been riding his case ever since leaving the airport. "You're a manager, they'll respect you," Aldo had said. What a crock.

Though William could not place the blame entirely on the native reapers for his misfortune. He should have known the building would collapse and when. It was in all the records. Thinking back on it now, he could not even remember how they had convinced him to do it. He should have been paying closer attention.

As he waited patiently, willing his broken body to heal faster, he thought about Grell and Ronald, and prayed that they were both safe.

* * *

><p>Everything was quiet. No birds sang, and no wind blew, save for a soft breeze that tossed Gabby's hair playfully. It was as if the earth knew what was coming.<p>

She and Rome stood at a distance to the north of the projected crash site, gazing out across the field in a deep reverie. Gabby was trying to work up her courage. She had been on many assignments before, always accompanied by Rome, who trained and observed. This assignment seemed different somehow though, what with the knowledge of the incidents in New York City and Langley occupying her thoughts. Knowing that the people on board that plane were going to die honorably and courageously did not help her psyche either.

In another part of the field, standing just at the crest of the highest slope, Ronald, knee deep in the greenish-golden grass waited patiently. The sun was behind him, but he still had to squint to look up at the azure sky. He was vaguely aware of the positions of the others, save for Grell, who was God-only-knows where.

Suddenly, Ron perked up his ears. Now indeed, there was a sound. It was soft at first, but was growing increasingly louder as the seconds ticked by. Still, there was no indication of the sound's source. It was hard to describe in all honesty. Perhaps it could best be described as ringing, like the kind of ringing one hears in his or her ears after a rock concert.

Looking to the east, a small dot appeared in the sky. From a distance it looked like a large bird, wings outstretched and gliding along with the breeze. But it grew increasingly closer, at a speed not attainable by any living creature.

"Oh, yeeeeeeeees!"

The war cry came from a distance, floating over the field, sounding small and insignificant from so far. It was also partially drowned out by the increasing volume of the ringing.

He frantically scanned the field to the west of his position. Then, suddenly, there he was, running in the direction of the approaching speck, waving his death scythe over his head like a raving lunatic.

Ron shook his head dismissively, grinning to himself. He had not seen his colleague having this much fun in a long time.

He watched the speck grow larger still as, at the same time, the ringing grew ever louder.

Ron checked his watch. 10:03: right on schedule.

When the details of the plane came into focus, Ron noticed that it looked unsteady, jolting back and forth violently as it sank even lower in the sky.

Grell continued to run toward the plane, and when it streaked over top of him, he leaped up onto the wing. Grell enjoyed the rush he got from free-running across rooftops and hanging from light posts and flagpoles, so knowing how to navigate the feat of leaping from the ground onto a moving airplane wing was no problem for the redhead. Ronald lost site of him after that. All he could do was watch as the plane soared over his head, nearly blowing out his eardrums with the noise of the engines.

All the reapers watched as the plane smashed into the ground, throwing dirt and debris into the air.

* * *

><p>His heart palpitated with excitement, the blood that pulsed through his veins pure adrenaline. It ran hot and red with a burning hatred, a fiery sadistic passion that only propelled him forward with that much more speed. The plane was coming. He could taste the death of those on board on the tip of his tongue, just as a snake licks the air to take in the scent of its prey. Everything before his eyes had turned a magnificent shade of bright red. He was insatiable, a raging bull intent on impaling anyone who crossed him.<p>

With less effort than it took for him to bat an eyelash, he sprung to the tip of the wing as it passed overhead, quickly kicking in the window and diving inside. He was working against the clock now, with only seconds to spare.

The interior of the plane was small. In fact, it was small enough that he was able to run down the aisle and claim the souls of all those before him. There were a few people in the aft of the aircraft that might last past the crash. The others could get to them later. But the passengers were not the objects of his current excitement and so he did not commit his full concern to them.

A group of passengers impeded his entry to the cabin and he took them out easily, the records bursting into the depressurized cabin. He would review them later; there were more important matters to tend to at the moment.

Not wasting time trying to break his way through the lock on the cabin door, he teleported himself inside, paying no attention to either the other reaper or the single living pilot in the vicinity. His sights were set on only the three men he was set out to destroy.

The first: death scythe through the face. No chance of seeing another day.

The second: lost his legs right above the kneecaps. There was absolutely no walking away from this.

The third: the hijacker pilot of the plane, received a stiletto heel to the temple, which propelled him through the glass of the cockpit window to land in the field below, severely injured but not quite dead. After all, what fun was this going to be if it was all over in three seconds?

When the plane hit the ground, everything moved in slow motion. It was like a bomb had exploded. Dirt and debris were thrown into the air and smoke rose in a magnificent, black plume as the aircraft ground into the field. The earth trembled, birds frantically took flight, and every sound was magnified a thousandfold.

All the reapers who had stood watching from their posts were knocked off their feet. The sonic boom caused by the explosion pounded them in the way the beating of a large drum goes straight to the heart.

Then everything was quiet again. The reapers watched as the newly formed hole in the Earth slowly burned. It was an amazing spectacle; the plane had practically disintegrated. There was hardly anything left.

From the top of the slope, Ron saw the other two male reapers heading toward the crash site. Adam emerged from the tree line just a little ways down the hill from him, and Jeff had been waiting at the bottom of the incline north of the plane's final resting place. Spirals of what looked like strands of silk twisted and undulated above the newly formed trench in the ground. It quickly dawned on him that these were the records his colleague had managed to extract. They must have come out of the plane when it disintegrated. He was shocked by the amount. Grell had only been on the plane for a matter of seconds.

Grell! Where was he? Had he gotten off the plane before it crashed? If he had, then were the hell was he!

Ronald's mind began to spasm, as he scanned the field frantically for his friend. If he had gotten himself killed, Ronald was going to kill himself, just so he could track down Grell's spirit and kill him again.

"Ungggghhh"

Ron's head whipped to the left, hoping the groan had come from the subject of his current train of thought. If Grell were hurt and not dead, he could live with that. However, the source in question was not whom he had expected. About ten yards away, there lay a heap in the grass. Though indiscernible the identity of said heap may have been, he knew for certain that it was not his friend.

Rome, closely trailed by Gabby, slowly approached the heap from the north as Ronald moved closer to get a better look.

"You should tend to the clients," Rome said softly, timidly. The three of them drew even closer still to the heap.

"I…"

"NO!" came a shout from down the slope. "He's MINE."

Ron quickly spun to see Grell, dirty, battered and a little worse for the wear, slowly cat-walking up the hill. He was followed by another, more muscular and tanner man, with flaxen hair that shone in the sunlight.

"Grell!" Ron was too happy for words. He ran to him, threw his arms out, but Grell just brushed him off.

"I've got this bastard. Run along dearies."

Rome, Gabby and Ron all gave curt grunts of agreement.

"John," Rome addressed the man who had made his appearance with Grell. "Why don't you come with us?"

John looked to Grell who was now standing threateningly over the heap in the grass, then back to Rome. Reluctantly nodding in acquiescence, he joined the review party and they hurried off toward the crash site to help the others collect the records Grell had extracted.

Never failing to be amazed by his senior's lack of tact or mercy, Ron stopped up for just a moment, watching as Grell, stooped down on one knee, removed something from the man's person and tossed it over his shoulder. Then he grabbed a fistful of the man's clothing, forcing his victim to face him, to face Death, and know the full extent of Death's mercy.

* * *

><p>"Hello, darling," he said with wide, shark-toothed grin as he looked down upon the sad sack of cow feces that lay at his feet. "How are you today? Having fun?"<p>

Grell kneeled down, one knee in the dirt. The man said nothing, only grunted in pain. "Oh, no! You're not? That's a shame, because I am quite enjoying this… ugh. No, no, darling. Don't do that," he chided, finger waggling.

Grell saw the man's hand reaching for a knife at his belt, but the arm appeared to be broken, so it was useless anyway. Grell removed the knife himself and tossed it aside. Then he grabbed the man's shirt collar and shoved his face into the terrorist's bloody, battered one.

"You can't hurt me. So don't even try." He paused, sniffing the air. The man was repugnant. This was likely due to the fact that Grell currently had his hands on him, so the stench of death was seeping from his pores. But he continued.

"Does this feel good to you, being in this position right now? Do you feel justified in what you've done?" He shook the man vigorously for effect. The man did nothing. He kept his eyes shut, submissively taking Grell's abuse without looking at him.

"Do you know who I am? LOOK AT ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!"

He shook the man again and this time he opened his eyes, fighting against the swelling that was forcing them shut.

"Do you know who I am?"

The man attempted to shake his head. Grell accepted this response and continued.

"I am Death, honey. And you're going to die. Though you knew that already when you got on that plane this morning, didn't you?"

Grell tut-tutted, looking up to the sky. The man's stench was getting to him, and so was his horrible, ugly face. He slammed the man's head back into the ground, taking a moment to rub the blood around the man's disfigured, injured mug with the palm of his hand.

"I am going to end your life very, very soon, but not before I have my fun, understand? Now, you may think that what you've done, you did in the name of your 'god' but let me explain something. I've never been a big believer in that sort of thing, but I do believe there's something out there. I mean there has to be right?" He chuckled, "I wouldn't be here if there weren't. And what's the difference what form it comes in? It's all the same bollocks anyhow.

"Riddle me this, friend; what god, in their right mind, is going to see right by forgiving what you've done? Hm? Killing innocent people who haven't done you a speck of dishonor? That's sick, sweetie, and you know it. I'm an uncaring, unfeeling bastard myself and even _I_ know that. But you… you're something else entirely."

He relaxed, repositioning himself to sit next to the man's crumpled form, staring out over the field as the records that swirled over the crash site slowly began to disappear. He continued to speak to the man like there was nothing wrong. The man could not move due to his extensive injuries, so there was no harm in him running away or retaliating. He had no friends to back him up. Not this time. No, it was just himself, all alone, hanging out with Death on the top of a grassy knoll in the middle of nowhere.

Grell was playing with him, allowing him to suffer and experience the pain that he deserved. If he so chose, Grell could leave his soul. He could allow it to rot and fester inside this mangled and disfigured body, enduring the torment of broken bones and internal bleeding for the rest of eternity. It did not make a lick of difference to Grell, and he informed the man as such.

"You know, I could let your soul rot and fester inside your mangled and disfigured body, enduring the torment of your broken bones and internal bleeding for the rest of eternity. It doesn't make a lick of difference to me." He paused, picking a piece of grass from the ground and ripping it into pieces. "But I can't do that can I? You see, I'm on a schedule, and if your record isn't completed then I can't go home. So…" Here he stood, stooping over his victim ominously.

"Here's how it's going to work. I'm going to take your soul, mark it down in my little book here, and go on my merry way. I'm not even going to look at your record because you don't deserve to live. You don't deserve anything but a fiery place in Hell where you'll burn in agony, with knives stabbing at your genitals for the rest of eternity. But unfortunately, that is not up to me to decide. I can only hope that one day your fate is so terrible. So... shall we get on with it then?"

He waited for the man to respond, not expecting him to.

"Oh goody!" He clapped, doing a little hop from one foot to the other.

Grell stuck the piece of grass he had been playing with in his mouth and picked up his death scythe. He revved the engine dramatically, sizing up his target, not only to strike horror into the man's heart as a send off from this world, but also to make sure this experience was going to be most pleasurable for himself.

"I'm not sure? Do you need your head?" Grell mocked. "Oh, it doesn't matter. You're not going to need it anyway."

Grell gave one last maniacal laugh before lopping off the man's head, then stomping it into the ground with his boot heel.

"Oh dear. Now my shoe is ruined. Pity." He gave the head another forceful stomp, then wiped his shoe in the grass. Now he was satisfied. He pulled out his book and marked the man and his cohorts' records as completed.

Grell turned then, looking out over the field as the tiny silken strands over the wreckage continued to disappear.

The others were collecting the records that he had extracted. There was no point or purpose in reviewing them because death was unanimously decided when the bodies disintegrated with the rest of the aircraft. All he cared about though, was serving justice where justice was due, and none of the terrorists he had disassembled today deserved the respect most reapers showed toward the reviewing of cinematic records. Those people were below that courtesy in his mind, and he felt no regret in his decision to break with protocol in this situation.

Staring out over the scene, he watched as the last of the silvery strands disappeared from over the crash sight.

* * *

><p><em>I would like to thank you all for your lovely reviews! It really warms my heart to know that this story is appreciated, and that I'm doing a good job! I wasn't sure how well it was going to turn out to be honest. So thank you so much and happy reading!<em>

_I spent one night until 3am writing the first draft of this, then the next night I stayed up until 4am. I am very satisfied with how this chapter turned out. I was on a roll the first night, and the dialogue came so smoothly and naturally… oh my! Very rarely am I this happy with my work, and I'm not ashamed to say, yes, I feel big headed about this chapter and all of its perfection._

_I guess a little bit of my harbored hatred toward the terrorists and their actions on 9/11 came out in this, didn't it? It's perfectly reasonable though…_


	5. Chapter 5

_Kuroshitsuji ©Yana Toboso and SquareEnix_

* * *

><p>When all was said and done, they had lost five souls. No one had expected the plane to disintegrate the way it had, and those that were lost were the people who had been in the aft of the aircraft. All the others were accounted for, thanks to Grell's actions, unorthodox though they may have been.<p>

The reapers found out, through the viewing of the records, that many of the passengers had been trying to break into the cabin when it arrived over the fields of Pennsylvania. Earlier, thirteen of them had reached family and friends over the phone and were informed of the other incidents in New York and Langley. Realizing that their own flight was a part of this plot, they decided that they were going to try and seize control of the plane. They attempted to break into the cabin, and when the terrorists realized what the passengers were doing, they tried to shake the plane to knock the people off balance. Determined not to give up, the passengers continued to attempt their break-in. Eventually the terrorists realized that they were not going to win against the passengers' crusade, and crashed the craft into the ground.

When they had returned to the office, it was almost twenty after ten. The overall assignment had not taken very long at all.

Back in the semi-circle, Rome turned the television projector back on to check for any updates on the situations in New York and Langley. They found out that the South Tower of the World Trade Center had collapsed at 9:59, just after they had left to tend to their own duties in the field. When Gabby saw this, she left the room without a word. Grell wondered about William and hoped he was okay.

Five minutes before the reapers had returned to the office, part of the Pentagon had collapsed as well. They continued to watch the television, horrorstruck more than anything, by the drama that was playing out on the screen. The incident reports could wait until later. World events were more important.

It was ten minutes or so after they returned though, that they watched the North Tower, live broadcast on screen, crumble to the ground, a giant mushroom billowing from the top as it imploded on itself. Again, Grell's mind wandered back to William.

Currently, the sun was sinking low in the sky, its rays slanting sharply through the windows, casting orange streaks across the desks at which they worked. The beauty it radiated seemed wrong. It did not feel appropriate in light of the events that had transpired in the last nine hours, and even though it could have been just another normal day, it was not.

Everyone who belonged to the Shanksville office had been done filing his and her own reports a long time ago. But because Grell, Ronald and the newcomer, John Haddarack, were not from the area, they were required to fill out extra overseas and out-of-state forms respectively. They had been given desks in the upstairs office space for the time being to do so. It seemed to be taking Grell an extra long time to finish his, Ron noticed, due to the sideways glances that he kept passing at the Jersey reaper.

In the wake of their return to the office, Grell's fervor for the dismembering of terrorists slowly subsided and transformed itself into a fervor over John. Ronald had to admit, the guy was handsome, but Grell had a habit of taking his lust to ridiculous levels. Ron wished his partner would just hurry up and finish. He was getting hungry and tired, and wanted to go find something to eat before it got too late.

Grell hated filling out paperwork. Thankfully, the forms were all online, so it made filing them a lot easier. There was no paperwork to carry back with him, or that he would have to worry about losing because he packed it in his checked luggage and the airline lost it. It happened all the time. E-mail made everything so much more convenient.

Finishing his last overseas form, Grell stood, stretching, and wandered over to the window. He reclined against the counter that ran the length of the room and stared at John with hungry eyes. John was the first attractive man he had seen since the New York reapers who had collected William and his team from the airport. He was not going to let this one get away so easily.

Ron's head popped up after a minute, a questioning expression knitting his brow. Grell responded with a wicked grin and Ron rolled his eyes, returning to his work.

Thoroughly amused by Ron's irritation, he turned away from the busybodies at the desks and looked casually through the window. The sun was shining brightly in his eyes, but he could just make out a tiny figure heading across the field, disappearing into the distance, the light hitting her hair like a fiery torch.

Now where was Miss Gabby running off to?

"Please excuse me, gentlemen. I've finished my reports so I'll be heading out now."

"Wait for me, Grell!" Ronald said, scrambling to clear his work area for the evening. "I'm hungry, we can…"

"No Ronald. I need to be alone for a while. It's been a very trying day. I suggest you do the same."

"But…"

"I'll tell you what. Let's make a date for tomorrow, and Dear John can come with us too. How does that sound?"

"Thanks for the offer but I need to be getting back in the morning," came John's reply.

"See Grell, he can't come. Let's just do it tonight."

"Then we'll do breakfast.

"Grell—"

Grell grabbed Ron by the shoulders and stared him square in the face. "Look Ronnie, I've got something important I need to do. You're on your own tonight. Tomorrow, I'll do whatever your little heart desires, but let me have tonight. Please." Grell was not one to beg, but the longer Ron held him up, the better chance he would have of losing Gabby.

Ron seemed to accept his friend's plea, and nodded reluctantly. Grell gave no response, only turned and swiftly descended the stairs.

* * *

><p>She ran for a long time, her pace never slowing. She had a quite a lot of energy, just like he did most of the time. He followed her, keeping to the treetops, and when he could not follow her by tree, he kept his distance on the ground. Where was she going? Did anyone else besides him know that she was gone?<p>

Eventually, she came to a quaint, little farmhouse tucked back in a patch of forest away from the interstate. It was mostly shrouded from the road by trees, but it was not completely isolated from other people. The neighbors were closer to the road than this house. Behind it, woods spread over the crest of the hill upon which the house resided, and then gave way to more open field. Nearby, a path over the rolling hills had been cleared of trees to permit the large scaffolding that held the power lines to the area.

Grell guessed he had followed her for about twenty-five miles. He had seen a sign at some point that indicated they were in a place called Johnstown.

He watched her approach a back window of the house, which was obscured mostly by trees. She did nothing, only stood, staring silently. He could not get a good look himself, but the lights were on inside the house, and he sensed movement.

She stared for a long time, not saying anything. Then suddenly, she spoke.

"I know you followed me," she said, her voice soft, slightly straining.

His posture stiffened against the tree he hid behind, but he said nothing.

"You don't have to hide. I know you're there."

He sighed and slid out from his hiding place. He walked up beside her, his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his pants, and looked down. She was an average height, but he was three inches shy of being six feet tall, not counting the extra height given him by his four-inch heels.

"Why did you follow me?" she asked with a croak after a long while.

He stood pondering for a moment, and then tapped his finger on his chin. "I don't know. My own curiosity got the better of me, I suppose."

"Do any of the others know?"

"No."

There was a solemn silence between them, the sounds of the forest echoing off the side of the house and through the trees. Slowly, he turned his head, his gaze following her own, which was locked on the scene that was set in the room beyond the window. The space was warmly lit, illuminating a living area in which two couches were situated facing each other, a coffee table topped with a vase of wildflowers placed between them. A television was pushed against the wall, but it was not in use at the moment. The atmosphere inside seemed heavy, sad. A middle-aged couple embraced on the couch that faced away from the two reapers' vantage point. Both members of the couple looked extremely upset, but the man kept a stony façade, not unlike the girl who stood by Grell's side. It appeared that he was trying to console the woman, to be strong for both of them.

"Your family, isn't it?" Grell had not needed to ask. He noted the square jaw and greying reddish-brown hair of the man, and the large watery eyes and light freckles of the woman. He had seen those same features and strikingly similar expressions on the face of this girl so much in the last day, there was no doubt in his mind whom these people were.

She continued to stare through the window without a word. Reluctantly, she gave a curt nod.

He sighed softly, crossing his arms.

"I know what you're thinking," she said, "but I just had to know."

"Oh? And just what am I thinking, dear? Please, humor me."

Gabby spoke slowly. "'You shouldn't have come here. You can't let them see you.' Well you don't need to tell me; Rome's drilled it into my head enough times."

"Actually, no. I wasn't thinking that at all."

Finally, she tore her eyes away from the window, and looked up to Grell. Her face still held no hint of expression, but he could feel the questioning behind her glassy stare.

"I _was_ thinking, 'She probably came here to get confirmation. Perhaps the reason was to ease her distress and hope that they felt you here and were, themselves, eased by that thought. "Watching from above" as it were.'" He poked his thumb toward the window. "I can see now that it wasn't one of your parents who possibly perished in those towers."

She averted her eyes to the ground. He did not fail to notice how her fingers subsequently balled into tight, little fists. He was touching a nerve. He was trying to be gentle about the situation, but possessing a personality such as his, sensitivity was not his forte.

"You can confide in me… if you wish."

Worrying about the revelation of details regarding her past life was imprudent in her regard at this point. The current social situation in which they found themselves could not be more intimate and inappropriate.

"I can't." She swallowed hard. She was choking back tears, her emotions knotting in her throat. He could tell.

"That's fine." Grell turned his gaze back to the window, but did not move otherwise.

"It's my brother," Gabby said, finally, after several minutes. Grell closed his eyes, a soft smile coming to his lips. He knew she would not keep quite forever if he allowed her the freedom to stew.

"Last year, he moved to New York to work in the stock exchange after graduating college with a business degree and high honors. I was so proud when I found out. But I was also disappointed that I couldn't celebrate with him since I was already…"

She sniffed, wiping a tear away from her eye.

"I shouldn't be telling you any of this."

She dropped to her knees, the leaves rustling. A twig snapped from the impact. She sobbed uncontrollably into her hands, her complexion soft in the light of the window.

Normally, Grell had little tolerance for such behavior. There was nothing more pathetic than a person reduced to a sniveling mess in a puddle of their own self-pity. But Gabby was so young and in this case, after everything that had happened today, her reaction seemed… reasonable. Though it could have been her human emotions still clinging to consciousness, Grell found that he could understand where she was coming from. After all, her family was still alive, and close by for that matter. It was quite a temptation. He had been in her situation once; every reaper goes through it. Though, in his case, he had never been close with his family, so he had never had issues with severing that relationship. But having been in a close relationship with someone in the human world and then suddenly finding himself in this situation where he was prohibited from ever seeing them again? It would be a lie if he said it were not true.*

Perhaps his ability to sympathize was also due in part to the parallel he drew between her heartache and the slight twangs he was feeling in his own heart about William. He had heard nothing of the reapers' situation in New York all day. He was beginning to feel uneasy.

He kneeled down to her level. She did not look up, only continued to sob. Cautiously, he reached out a hand, touching her shoulder only gently with his fingertips at first. Then slowly, knees hitting the ground, his body drew closer to hers, and his arms wrapped around her shoulders pulling her closer. He rested his chin on the top of her head.

Almost instantly, her muscles went rigid beneath his touch, and suddenly he wondered if he had made a mistake. He heard the breath catch in her throat with a sob, and then she sighed, burrowing her face into the hollow beneath his collarbone. The awkwardness between them that he thought he had caused ebbed then, and he gave a soft huff of relief.

"Why did this have to happen?"

Grell was not sure how to respond. He opened his mouth to attempt an answer, but she went on before he could get a word out.

"I wish I'd died like a normal human being," she choked on her words, "anything but this. If I had, I wouldn't have to live with the constant regret that burns inside of me every day and every night. "

She was merely venting. She was not looking for him to agree with her, or for his input on the matter. Gabby was grateful to have a pair of ears listening to her for once, since other reapers hardly paid any attention to her due to her low rank on the totem pole.

"If I could do it all over again, I would. I'd be different. I would change. I'd listen to my parents, and go to rehab, and stop dating Kyle or-–or…. Just… Be a different person."

The last part she said quietly, her voice barely audible.

"It's the curse of being a reaper, darling," Grell said eventually, stroking her hair. "But you eventually learn to live with the past."

Clenching a fold of his shirt in her fingers, she buried her face deep into his chest again. She was calmer now, more serene. He ran his fingers over her hair and spoke again.

"You know love, when I was alive, I never got along with my family either, though it seems to me that it was for different reasons than your own. I never felt any remorse when I was finally rid of them. But eventually, everyone you knew as a human dies. Whether it's now, or years from now, the human world will become a place of identical faces meant only as a means of livelihood for us reapers. The sooner you forget you ever had a family, the easier it becomes."

Gabby remained silent, soft shudders still shooting through her body. Nothing was said for a long while, as the sounds of the night chirped on within the surrounding woods.

He felt her head bow as she snuggled her cheek against his chest and then she spoke into his shirt, voice cracking. "I'm ready to leave now."

He nodded, giving her a light pat on the back. Without a thought, he sprung to his feet and made a beeline back in the direction they had come. She took a moment to collect herself, and then scrambled to her feet, following his lead, and quickly matched his steady pace. Neither of them spoke. For at least ten minutes, it was quite nice, just enjoying each other's company and the cool nighttime weather as they walked side by side.

"So," she spoke up eventually, a slight heaviness still prevalent in her voice. It was apparent though, that she was making an honest attempt to sound upbeat. "Have you heard from any of the others? Weren't there other reapers from your office that went to New York?"

"Yes, there were. And no. Sadly, I haven't heard a thing. I am quite worried about dear William though. That incident in the city was rather horrifying. I do hope he's all right."

Silence fell over them again for a few moments.

"Mr. Sutcliff?"

"Please, call me Grell."

"Grell…" she allowed the name to hang in the air a moment, accustoming herself to how it sounded coming from her lips. She had never actually addressed him before. "C-can reapers die?"

He considered the question for a moment. "It takes a lot, but yes. It is possible."

"Do you think there were any reapers in the towers when they fell?"

Grell thought about it for a minute. Gabby was going somewhere with this series of questions. This was not just polite small talk.

"I would hope not. If a building that size fell on a reaper, the physical damage would be fatal. I would hope the reaper would be smart enough to get out when he or she realized what was happening."

"Oh. Okay. I knew that we could be injured. I just didn't know if we could die. And if a reaper does die, what happens to them? Are there reapers for reapers?"

Grell cocked an eyebrow at the girl. "I hope you're not thinking of trying anything, dearie."

"N-no! Of course not! I'm just thinking about what happened in New York, that's all."

Grell gave the girl a quick sideways glance out of the corner of his eye, the corner of his mouth curling slightly, but otherwise, he did not respond. There was silence again for a long while as they walked. They listened to the soothing sounds of the bugs, the scurrying of rodents, the prancing of deer and their own footsteps as they trounced through the drying underbrush. The night was calm, peaceful. It was a perfect contrast and end to the hellish day they had just endured.

"Grell?"

"What is it, dear?"

"How exactly did you know what was bothering me?"

"Please, your acting is very uninspired, love. You weren't exactly making a great effort to hide it, earlier. Anyone with a brain stem could have figured it out. But I'm convinced that the others simply lacked the gall to address it."

"They don't care about me. They never did."

"And they won't until you show them your mettle. You're bottled up inside your own head, but you need to let loose. I know. I see a younger, and slightly wilder, me in you. Don't let them kick you around and they'll stop their bollocks. I probably shouldn't even be telling you this, but it's standard procedure to treat trainees with disdain. It's a method they use to harden you, to break your spirit so that you become used to the idea of being surrounded by death on a daily basis. Human emotions can get in the way of a reaper's duties, and this is how they flush those silly, unnecessary things out of you."

She stared at him, her eyes wide and bright. She said nothing though, and faced front again as they continued onward.

"Grell?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you… for everything. I think you might have just saved my life tonight."

He stopped walking to turn and consider the girl who had stopped a few meters behind him. He had… saved her life? He pondered the irony of the statement, taking into account the nature of his being. He smirked, amused.

"Well, you are most certainly welcome, darling."

She smiled up at him happily, a soft giggle bouncing in her throat. Without warning, she flew to him, throwing her arms around his waist. Once he got past the initial shock, he returned the gesture, patting her on the head.

There was an unspoken bond between them now. Whether it was good or bad, or that it would last or not, remained to be seen. But Grell had acquired knowledge this night about his new colleague that he should not even have. He did not know so much about even his closest friends, William and Ronald. Their human lives were shrouded in as much mystery as the quandary of the chicken and the egg. In truth, he felt like a Peeping Tom in the worst sense of the term, and he would have to carry this burden with him for the rest of his life.

Maybe Gabby was more trouble than she was worth.

But he had picked up on her suicide-inclined line of questioning. So if he had stopped her from hating herself so much, maybe that was better than his inconvenience regarding the matter. Killing another reaper, whether it was direct or indirect, would have grieved him deeply. He would have felt even more uncomfortable knowing that one of his kind had perished due to his inaction, than the discomfort felt with the information he had obtained.

He rationalized that it was a reasonable trade-off.

"No one is ever to know about this. You know that, right?" He held her at arm's length, and locked eyes with her.

"Of course."

"Good."

That was all he said, and they enjoyed the rest of their walk in contentment of their new, unspoken connection.

* * *

><p>*<em>Oh God, I created a loose end. Now I'm going to have to explain myself… or am I? *smirks evilly*<em>

_°I realize there are inconsistencies when referring to measurements. Some of it is metric and some is standard. I don't care. It's late and I wanted to get this chapter posted. So sue me._

_I hope you guys don't hate me too much for writing Grell a bit out of character in this chapter. But I think there is enough explanation in the text to justify my reasoning behind it._

_I'm expecting that there will be one more chapter after this one, which will kind of close up any of the loose ends I have presented, such as... how will Grell and Ronald react upon seeing William at the end of the week? How is William doing? You'll have to wait and find out!_

_Just a note to you guys who have been sticking with me: I've been corrected about several errors I made about how reapers operate. I want to thank FlatPanda for challenging me about the fact that reapers don't actually judge the souls themselves but decide instead whether the person deserves to die or not. (Having watched the show _I Survived: Beyond and Back_ it kind of makes sense to me that in rare occasions a person is spared when the odds of living are completely against them.) Therefore, gone back and re-written some of the details of the story. Some of the details in chapter 4 have been changed so you may want to re-read that one if you've read this story once through already._


	6. Chapter 6

_Kuroshitsuji © Yana Toboso and SquareEnix_

* * *

><p>The British reapers remained in Shanksville for three more days. They would have left sooner, but for obvious reasons, no flights were available before the fourteenth. The airports re-opened on the morning of the thirteenth, but most air traffic for the day consisted of the transportation of those who had been grounded in unexpected places on the eleventh to their final destinations. New passengers were accepted on the fourteenth, and the only flight from the U.S. to the U.K. was scheduled to leave at seven o'clock that evening from Philadelphia.<p>

On the morning after the incident, another reaper, a female, arrived from the Newark Office in a green Sedan to pick up John. Grell did not like to see the hunky guy leave, and he felt especially irked that the female reaper's preferred greeting for John was a kiss on the lips. But it was not really the disappointment over seeing John with another woman that bothered him.

That day, after they had all bade the Jersey reaper a last farewell, Grell hovered near the phone, and checked his e-mail inbox obsessively. He expected a call or e-mail or _something_ from William, but there was nothing. He was sure everything was fine, but the more time that passed without word from New York, the more time he had to stew, and convince himself that something had gone horribly wrong. Grell could tell that Ronald was concerned too, but whether his friend's consternation was as severe as his own was difficult to judge. When the day had passed, and the morning of the thirteenth came and went with not so much as an IM, Grell began to truly worry. Except that when Grell was worried, he did not appear as a trembling mess of nerves that tittered and flitted about the room like a nervous Nancy. No, he turned into a raging, unreasonable terror in stilettoes.

"Why the _hell _hasn't William called? Why hasn't _ANYONE_ called?" he shouted at Ronald later that afternoon, kicking over his cot. Ronald jumped onto his own to avoid the mattress falling on him. "I can't take this isolation! If something went wrong, I'm going to have more than just a sharp word for those Yankee gits! Someone's going to find my fingers laced around their yuppie neck!"

"Grell, calm down, mate!" Ron cried, "I'm sure they're all okay up there! They had a lot more work than us, they've probably just been busy!" The blonde reaper was, at that moment, truly frightened for his life. He had meant for the remark to be reassuring, but it was difficult to sound sincere when he was in fear of bodily harm coming to him by the objects that were continually being flung in his direction.

"No! I refuse to accept that excuse! It only takes a minute or two to make a phone call to let the people you care about know that you're okay. Especially when you know that they're going to be worrying about whether or not you've been crushed by a bloody building!"

"Mr. Sutcliff, please…" Ronald ducked as a hair dryer whizzed over his head and made a dent in the wall behind him.

On the fourteenth, Grell was no more consolable than he had been the previous afternoon, but Gabby's reluctant goodbye that afternoon had cast a bittersweet haze over his eyes. The other reapers found it a bit odd that she was so choked up about the Brits' departure, but did not really question it. After their little visit to see her parents, Gabby had gained a great respect for Grell, and hated to see him leave. When she had told him he had saved her life that night, she had meant it. Though she had never been suicidal, she found in herself a new appreciation for being a reaper, which only days before had been a deep ocean of resentment. Her afterlife would be better from now on –all meddling on his part aside– because of his counsel. As Grell slid into the car, his red, off-the-shoulder t-shirt hanging loosely from his body, Gabby ran to him, throwing her arms around him in a last embrace.

"I promise I'll follow your advice," she whispered for his ears only. "Thank you so much. For everything."

He gave her a pat on the shoulder and a soft smile. "You'll be fine, love," he added with a wink.

"I hope your William is all right."

His expression softened slightly, but he did not allow his anxiety to show.

"Thank you," he said as graciously as possible. He could not entirely mask the shakiness in his voice, and felt ashamed for showing such weakness.

Grell closed the car door then, and shot her a little wave as the Blazer pulled away from the abandoned farmhouse, which, in the human realm, marked the location of the reaper office. The reluctant smile that graced Gabby's face as he took one last glance glance through the window would be engrained in his memory for the rest of eternity.

Ronald and Jeff did not seem to want to know what the situation with Gabby was all about, but it was probably better that way. Grell slid his large, red-framed shades up on the bridge of his nose and reclined in the seat. There was very little conversation during the drive back to Philadelphia, and so he mostly just dozed, and when he was not resting his eyes, he thought about what Gabby had said.

She had used the phrase, "_your_ William." Was his stoic superior really _his_ to claim? He pondered this question for a while, and eventually decided that yes, William was his. He had never cared so much for anyone else in his immortal life, save for Ron who was a close second. He hated ranking his friends like that, but it was true. The only difference was, Ron was more like a little brother to him, whereas William was his everything. Whether William liked it or not, Grell was going to be around to pester him for a long time. They had already shared such a lengthy history. Losing that would be a fate worse than death... or whatever the process was called when it applied to a reaper.

* * *

><p>Jeff thanked them, for the last of a hundred times, for lending their assistance to the Shanksville office. He seemed to hold Grell especially, in higher regards due to the stunts he had pulled to get the souls on the plane. Jeff did not seem to realize that what he had witnessed was an episode of bloodlust from the red reaper, but it did not really matter. They would likely never meet again, so let him think what he wanted. The others, Rome especially, had sent multitudes of thanks with them as well. But Grell was tired of hearing it. He wanted nothing more than to see William.<p>

Grell and Ronald made it through security, though with much more hassle than they had remembered upon arrival in the States. The process took much longer this time around. Both reapers had been randomly chosen to participate in a new game that airport security liked to call "Gate Rape," in which they were led into a private room where they were forced to strip to their skivvies and subsequently defiled for twenty minutes. Their luggage was thoroughly searched as well, and to Grell's extreme humiliation, the guards laid out every pair of his lacy underwear upon the table for all to see. He did not care so much about what impression the security guards took from this little display, but for Ronald, he was extremely embarrassed. Ronald knew full well that Grell felt this way, as he noticed the deep scarlet that had spread across his superior's cheeks, but he was not entirely shocked. He had learned over the years that, with Grell, anything was possible.

At least Grell had thrown the hairdryer away two days ago when it broke, so there was one less thing in the suitcase that the guards could accuse of being a bomb.

Finally, once the two of them had been thoroughly violated like airport security's personal bitches, they made it through to their flight's designated terminal. To both their delight, there were eight familiar faces already waiting for them. However, that delight turned instantly to concern when they noticed that one of the crew had a bandage around his head and sat uncomfortably rigid in a wheel chair.

When Grell realized _who_ it was in the wheel chair, he nearly flipped shit.

Ronald, who had been standing behind his superior, stepped back, distancing himself from the explosion he sensed was about to come. Ron noticed a bright crimson flush begin to color Grell's neck that reminded him of a thermometer, the red liquid inside rising to the head and threatening to burst out and spill everywhere in boiling heat.

Grell marched over to William and looked down at him, his tightly balled fists shaking violently. His voice was calm though.

"Who did this to you?"

"Mr. Sutcliff…" William began, but Grell cut him off.

"Don't you 'Mr. Sutcliff' me. I'm not getting on that plane until you give me some names."

"It was my own fault," William tried to explain. "I was in the South Tower when it fell. But I transported myself out of the debris before it settled. I'm fine. My body is healing perfectly, and I'll be back in commission in no less than a week."

Grell knew that the extent of Will's injuries must have been extremely severe if he were still recovering three days after the fact. Yet the manager was acting as if it were nothing. This made him even angrier. Why would William try to protect the New Yorkers? Grell felt betrayed that these strangers' interests seemed to be taking priority over his genuine concern.

"Don't patronize me, William. I'm no fool. Why were you in there in the first place? You should have known it was going to fall!"

"Yes, but I was foolish and miscalculated the timing."

"I don't buy that. They tricked you didn't they?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb with me sweetheart, because I'm better at it. You know full well what I'm talking about. The New York reapers. They tricked you somehow. I know it."

Albert Rutherford, who had been standing closest to the injured party, leaned over then, speaking in a hushed tone. "The New York reapers rode us all week. But they picked on Willie here the worst. They sent him in under the pretense that he'd be in and out in a matter of seconds, but he got held up."

William looked to Albert, eyes like daggers, his lips formed into a straight line. Ronald glared at his self-proclaimed arch nemesis too, mimicking William's annoyed expression.

Grell was shaking uncontrollably now.

"Are they still here?" he demanded, using all of his strength to control his quavering voice.

"What? Who?" William feigned ignorance, not wanting his subordinate to do what he knew he would do if he got a positive confirmation.

Grell sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes and leaning down to William's eye level, their noses almost touching. "The New York reapers. Are they still here?" He articulated every word, the icy cold intensity of his tone all too familiar to William. Usually he heard it preceding some huge fiasco that he would then have to attend to. Though in his current condition he could hardly take that initiative. He did not want an incident. Especially not in a foreign country when they were so close to returning home. He was not protecting the other reapers, he was merely looking out for his department's best interests, and if Grell flew off the hinge, everyone would suffer the consequences. He could already hear Aldo Cawley, criticizing his managerial expertise in failing to keep the peace in unfamiliar territory.

Albert piped in once more, "there's some bar across the street they said there were going to. Those guys like to drink, so they'd probably still be there."

William looked to Albert with cold, baleful eyes. Ronald thought he would put a fist through the bastard's face. Did he _want_ to see Grell cause trouble? Did he not realize that when this happened, the others in the division suffered too? Albert was a humungous idiot.

"Perfect," Grell purred through his clenched jaw. He knew exactly which bar Albert was talking about.

He did not even hesitate, and was gone before any of them could even blink. Ron heaved a heavy sigh and fell backward into one of the seats, hand covering his face.

"What's wrong, little Ronnie?" Albert asked, noticing his colleague's display of displeasure.

Ronald said nothing as he turned his gaze slowly up to Albert, glaring angrily from underneath his bangs.

* * *

><p>Two men in pinstriped business suits sat at the bar, one drinking scotch and the other drinking a Cuba Libre. The one with the scotch was blonde, had a hard, handsome jaw, and was clearly the more attractive of the two. He suddenly felt a hot breath on his neck.<p>

"Watch your back."

Before the blonde had the chance to even turn his head, a pair of hands grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, sharp fingernails digging into his collarbone, pulling backward off his bar stool. He fell onto his back, all the wind expelling from his lungs, and his drink flew into the air, coming down and spilling all over his expensive, designer suit.

"What the hell ?—!" the man's accomplice, a brunette, stood and whirled to face his friend who lay pinned to the floor by his attacker.

The man on the floor could not move his arms, as they were pinned beneath his attacker's knees. But if he had use of them he would have blocked his face from the talon-like fingernails that scratched at his face, tearing and disfiguring his almost classical visage.

The brunette jumped on the attacker, but was quickly thrown off, after which he found the attack turned on him. He was thrown over a nearby table, taking out a few innocent bystanders. The bar's patrons quickly scattered, to give a wide berth for this scene to play out. The bar tender would have been obliged to break up the fight in a normal circumstance, but even he seemed to be afraid of the crimson apparition.

"Who sent my William into that building? You bastards think you're funny? Why didn't he call me as soon as it happened? Were you restricting him that courtesy too?"

Neither of the men could respond. Grell did not give them the chance. He leapt like a pouncing jungle cat over the table that had just been overturned and began to give the other man's face the same treatment as the first. When the blonde came around to help, he found a stiletto heel dug deep into his gut and fell backward, his spine slamming solidly into the edge of the bar counter. The attack on his person swiftly returned.

Grell whirled around and pounced, grabbing a substantial handful of the man's hair and began slamming it off the granite countertop of the bar, putting cracks in the stone. The brunette had pulled himself up to some extent, and came at Grell one more time, easily getting a punch in, which knocked Grell's glasses askew.

Grell turned back to the brunette with the fury of twenty thousand hellcats burning behind his eyes. With a deep-throated snarl, Grell threw both arms at the man, grabbing his collar and running him backward away from the bar and shoved him into the billiards table, bending him over backward at the waist. Climbing onto the tabletop himself and pulling the rest of the brunette's body with him, he closed his fingers around one of the balls that was still on the table, and began smashing the man's jaw with it.

"How do you like it? You keep your hands off of me, and you stay away from my William, you foul, filthy, undesirable cretin!"

This reaper stayed down this time, after taking ten or eleven hits to the teeth, but the other was still conscious and coherent, and flew at Grell from behind.

Grell whirled around again, anticipating the attack and wailed the ball at his face, but it missed by a fraction of an inch and crashed loudly into the glasses and bottles of liquor behind the bar. The blonde got a hold of Grell by the throat and the two of them flew backward onto the billiard table only this time, the blonde had the advantage. Accidentally kicking his own unconscious partner in the head as he struggled to subdue the vicious redheaded assailant, the brunette slid to the floor.

Grell flailed violently, trying to flip the man off of him, but the fingers on his throat were tightening. It was not like his attacker could kill him by doing this, but the position was a disadvantage.

Finally, Grell was able to free one of his arms, and dug his nails into the man's hand. Prying one of the hands free from his now sore neck, he moved it to a position that he could get at it with his teeth and bit down hard, drawing blood. The man shot up from his crouch and screamed in pain. Grell took this opportunity to drive another kick at the man's gut, knocking him backward off the table. The man cracked his head off the back post of a chair on the way down.

By now, the other patrons of the bar had backed as far away as possible from the scuffle, lining the walls with frightened observation, and those that did not stay to watch in horror had fled.

Standing now with the advantage, Grell introduced the man a number of times to the pointed toe of his immaculately polished boot. He landed several kicks in the man's rib cage then grabbed the chair on which the man had hit his head and smashed it over top of his writhing body. Grell placed a final kick in the man's groin, after which, his victim curled up into the fetal position and cried like a little girl.

"Come now dear, don't make such awful sounds."

Just to make sure the man stayed down, Grell grasped the edge of the nearby table and flipped it on top of the bloody, battered, crying mess that squirmed on the floor.

"Now you two listen to me. If I ever hear that you, or anyone else in your office laid even a finger on dear William, I will not hesitate to come back here. Mark my words, you'll be dead if it comes to that."

He wiped a drop of blood off of his chin and then turned to see the many frightened onlookers cowering around the edges of the room. Saying nothing, he casually walked away from the two unconscious goons, and made a beeline for the restroom. A woman who stood in front of the entrance to the corridor down which it was located, squeaked and skittered out of the way as he approached.

In the men's room, he freshened up, rinsing the blood off of his face, picking the torn flesh from underneath his fingernails, and fixing his hair. The blood that was smeared on his face was his own, as his nose had busted open when the brunette punched him, but the wound had clotted already. He would more than likely have a bruise on his left cheekbone and eye for a few hours, but it would be better by the time their flight landed at Heathrow.

Finally satisfied that he was presentable again, he phased back to the terminal under full invisibility and headed into a bathroom so it would not seem odd if he appeared out of thin air. His reaper companions might think nothing of it, but the human population might find that a bit unsettling.

"What happened to you, mate?" Albert asked as Grell approached them, questioning the newly formed shiner on Grell's face.

William said nothing as he glared at Grell. There was fire behind his seemingly expressionless eyes. Grell only looked at him and shrugged.

"Don't say a word."

William watched as Grell took a seat in the chair next to his, and began twirling his hair around his finger. He had not been gone more than ten minutes, but it had been a long ten minutes. William knew that Grell cared about him, but the redhead was best at showing his affection when he was the one doing the bullying. William was not an idiot. He knew Grell was only trying to stick up for him. The New York reapers had taken advantage of and harassed him for five days and not once had William had the nerve to defend himself. Although this incident would not, and could not go unreported, he could not help but appreciate the gesture.

"Thank you."

Grell gave him a wicked grin.

"You're quite welcome, darling."

* * *

><p><strong>Yay a fight scene!<strong>

and

**OH MY GOD, I ACTUALLY FINISHED AN ENTIRE STORY**. I have yet to do this on this site in the 5 years I've been a member. That one-shot I posted last week doesn't count.

_The TSA was created 2 months after 9/11 happened. I do not know if airport security, when resumed on September 13__th__, were actually in the habit of strip searching people or not. However, I wanted this comedic situation in my story, so I took some liberties with fact so I could write it. I know it's not accurate. But it's funny. So laugh and enjoy Ronald and Grell's pain and humiliation :3_

_Also, I never really explained it, but I believe any world traveler would be familiar with the situation that when you leave your home country, usually you need special services to get your phone to work… the reapers would not have had time to get those services set up since they left on short notice so if they had cell phones, they would not work. William bought a phone in New York (human realm) the morning of the incident, but he did not have numbers for the Shanksville office or anything, just numbers that he needed immediately for communication. Even if he knew phone numbers for Ron and Grell's phones, they did not have phones with them anyway, so he could not call them. I took note that the reapers were more advanced in their technology. But this is why I did not mention much about cell phones and such. Just to clear that up for anyone who may have been wondering._

_I can't help but see the parallel between what I wrote here about Grell sticking up for William and an incident in my own life in which I tried to stick up for my brother (who's name is coincidentally, also William. lol) Though the fight I started wasn't physical, and I kind of lost, (because the person I was fighting with was literally unable to listen to anything I said and hear the logic in my words) but it's the principle of the thing. And I think, subconsciously, a lot of the stuff in this story was inspired by that. It seems to be an ongoing thing with this person, and it's caused my family a lot of problems and heartache, but I don't want to say too much as I've been kind of sworn to secrecy about a lot of it._

_I hope you all enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it! Now on to other things! I have a fic to write for a contest and another new fic I want to start soon as well! I have not been very active on this site in a while, but I'm on a roll with Grell at the moment. haha. A few of you gave me good criticism and advice along the way, so I'd like to thank you for that! Please keep reading and thank you so much for your reviews and time! 3_

_~Katie_


End file.
